


The Pay-Off For Having Faith

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angry Dean, Angst, Canon Related, Dean Has Issues, Dean and Mental Health Issues, Dean hears voices, Dean's Journal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Eventual Wincest, Going Home, Hallucinations, John and Bobby are brothers in this one, John is trying to be a good dad, Letters, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Mild Angst, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Dean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Dean, Protective Sam, Sam discovers he has a brother, Sam meets Castiel, Schizophrenic Dean, Slow Build, Slow Burn, charlie bradbury is a therapist, concerned john, learning to do everyday things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 72,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is fourteen years old when he finds out he has an older brother, whom is in a mental hospital.<br/>He hasn't seen Dean in 12 years, but now it's time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Randomness to celebrate that I'M FINISHED WITH MY VERY LAST WRETCHED CLASS. *happy dance* ahem.
> 
> [title created from some random Fall Out Boy lyric]

Sam Winchester was stretched out on an old couch in his uncle’s study, reading a book. It was a book of old myths, written in Latin. Sam had taken latin in middle school, and was taking it now in high school, and loved the language. He raised his eyes toward the study’s doorway as he heard the front door of the old house open and shut, voices drifting through the space.

They were spending a week here at his uncle Bobby’s before heading back to “civilization”, as his dad termed it. Bobby Singer’s Salvage Yard was one of Sam’s favorite places in the world. Sure, the house was old, the furniture was old, the yard was really a junk yard, old cars scattered all over the place. Bobby was there, though, with his gruff voice, and his amused smile when Sam did something to annoy his father, and his collections – rooms full! - of books. 

Too soon they would have to leave Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to head back to Lincoln, Nebraska. John Winchester was a professor at the University of Nebraska, where he taught a course on mythology and folklore. 

He brushed a lock of his chestnut hair away from his forehead before flipping to the next page in his book. He was distracted, however, by the voices carrying from one of the other rooms when he heard his name.

‘- Sam go?’ He caught part of the question his father asked, and raised his eyes upon hearing his name.  
“In there reading, I think,” his uncle’s voice answered. Sam was about to focus on the passage he was reading again when he heard his uncle say,

“Like I said, I still write him every couple’a weeks. Ramble on about the boring things I do around here. He writes me back sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he could visualize his father nodding in agreement with whatever Bobby was talking about, “Same here. Letters are always the same. Different versions, same content. Doc said he hasn’t seen any real change, except he’s a little quieter now.”

“You planning on visiting him soon? Wouldn’t mind seeing him again, myself. Been too long.”  
Bobby’s voice now, and Sam’s curiosity was rearing its head. He stood and moved from the couch to cross the study, skirting around the floorboard that squeaked when you stepped on it. He leaned against the door frame, just inside the door: he could hear his father and uncle more clearly but couldn’t be seen. 

“Yeah, soon,” his father replied, “I just.. damn, Bobby. It kills me that he’s there. It hurts. I talk to him sometimes and it’s like he doesn’t even know who I am, like he’s looking right through me. He asks about Sam, though. Every time, he asks about Sam.”

There was a moment of silence – Sam frowned, wondering who they were discussing that asked about him. 

After a moment, his father spoke again, “I just don’t know what to do for him. I don’t know if there’s anything that can be done for him at this point.”

“Well, don’t give up on him,” Bobby’s voice was gruff in that way it got when the man was emotional about something, “Something will change, eventually. Just don’t give up on him.”

“Trying, Bobby,” emotion touched his father’s voice now, “It’s hard but I’m trying. If I thought it would do any good, I would pull him out of there. I hate that he’s there. He is still my son.”

Sam froze, clutching at the door frame with his fingers. His heart seemed to skip a beat as his mind tried to process the words. He opened his mouth and then shut it, words flooding his throat but unable to escape. Finally he swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat and the unfamiliar, cold ache in his chest.

Two pairs of eyes turned in his direction, shock written in both, as he stepped into view of his father and uncle and asked, “I - I have a brother?”

 

In spite of the questions he asked the rest of the week, the constant harassment for information on his part, he received very few details about the person John and Bobby had been discussing. His father revealed minimal information – he had an older brother, whom had been sent elsewhere (for reasons John refused to reveal) when Sam was three years old. 

Bobby had clammed up altogether, only shaking his head and wiping tears from his eyes. Sam hadn’t wanted to upset him – he hated to see his uncle upset – and had dropped the questions for the time being.

He was able to garner scraps and pieces of information from his father over the following months, with questions and outright pleas, along with his 'puppy dog' look. He would ask before school in the morning, when John was drinking his coffee before going to teach his college class. He would ask after school. He would ask when they were in the car, going for groceries or to grab some dinner. Sometimes his father grew upset, told him to drop it or even to shut up, and sometimes he would talk. Not a lot, but a bit, and that was better than nothing, Sam figured.

So it was over the course of almost a year that he learned he had an older brother, whose name was Dean. He was four years older than Sam, and has been sent away when Sam was three. John had noticed some troubling behaviour from the boy, starting shortly after Sam’s mother passed away in a car accident when Sam was a year old. The brother, Dean, had started talking to himself and to people John couldn’t see. John had figured it was trauma – the boy had recently lost his mother, after all – but it grew worse.

Shortly after Sam turned two years old, his brother Dean began to talk about monsters. Monsters, ghosts, demons. Things he saw that others could not see. He grew almost obsessive over Sam during that time, protective and paranoid that something was going to take his brother from him. 

When he was seven years old, he had attacked a teenage neighbor boy with a ball bat. The attack caught the teenager off-guard and sent him to the ground. When he was pulled off the boy, John said, Dean was screaming that the boy was some kind of monster and they were all in danger. The boy ended up with a broken wrist and Dean ended up in a therapist’s office, followed by an almost immediate admission to a children’s mental facility. 

The details given him had unsettled Sam a bit: more disturbing, though, was that his brother had, apparently, been in one mental hospital after another for the past twelve years. Sam, who had just turned three years old when the older boy was sent away, hadn’t heard mention of him or even seen a picture and, as children tend to do at that age when they have nothing to remind them, had forgotten about him.

There hadn’t been any pictures, any mention of him, any evidence at all that he existed.

He had wrangled what details he could from his father, and they created mixed emotions within him. Sadness for this brother he hadn’t seen in a dozen years, whom had been locked away; anger at his father for keeping everything from him; anxiety that his brother, even if they didn’t know one another anymore, was lonely and sad.

It took almost a year to get more than a few details about Dean Winchester, and longer to get a location. Finally, the day after his fifteenth birthday, his father told him (when he demanded answers and began to do research online himself) where his brother was: Aurora County Mental Hospital, in Colorado. 

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  
John asked the question for what must have been the fiftieth time. Sam refrained from rolling his eyes – barely – and nodded yes.  
“I want to meet him.”

They were sitting outside the Aurora County Mental Hospital two months after Sam’s fifteenth birthday. He had had to wait until summer break rolled around before he was able to convince his father to let him finally meet the brother he hadn’t even known he had. Now they were sitting in the car, and Sam was feeling a little nervous. He shot his father a glance as the man told him, 

“He – he has some issues, Sam. He doesn’t think like other people think. A couple of years ago, he believed I told him to kill you if he couldn’t save you. From what, I don’t know, but he was furious with me for a long time after that. He believes in monsters and ghosts and demons. They’ve tried meds and therapy and everything else they could think of, but it hasn’t helped.”

The man’s hands tightened on the wheel and he closed his eyes: after a moment, he exhaled a breath and turned to Sam again.

“He’s asked about you but I don’t know how he’ll react when he meets you. It’s one of the reasons I never brought you here. Are you _sure_ you want to do this?” 

Sam met the other’s gaze and nodded yes. “I’m sure. I want to meet him.”

“Okay then,” John opened the car door and moved to get out, “Let’s go.”

Sam followed his father into the building – the mental hospital, his brain supplied helpfully – and they went through the check-in process. He fidgeted as he watched his father laugh with one of the nurses, shake hands with someone who might have been a doctor. He grew more nervous with the passing minutes. It wasn’t fear – he didn’t think he was afraid of this brother he hadn’t seen in 12 years. It wasn’t fear of how Dean would react, either. It was – Sam frowned, trying to puzzle out the feeling.

Would his brother think he had abandoned him? That he hadn’t ever come to visit by _choice_? He bit his lip when realization hit him: Would -- Did -- Dean Winchester think Sam had willingly walked away from him, had somehow failed him?

He registered subconsciously the rooms they passed, the hallways they moved through, but most of his focus was internal. It wasn’t until they halted in front of a door that Sam’s attention snapped back to the men in front of him – his father and a psychiatrist – and his surroundings.

The door in front of him caught his attention immediately: it was covered, in pencil, marker and ink, with symbols. Not just symbols, but runes, words, sigals. In Latin, in Greek, in languages Sam didn’t recognize. Protection spells, warding symbols, other writings and drawings and scribbles. Some he recognized – his father taught mythology and he was interested in the subject himself – and some he didn’t. 

His hazel gaze shifted to the men in front of him as his father shot him a wan smile and informed him, “It makes him feel safer.”

He swallowed hard, trying to push his heart back in his chest from where it seemed to lodge itself in his throat, as the psychiatrist knocked on the door before opening it. His father entered first, then the psychiatrist. After several seconds, Sam followed.

If the outside of the room’s door was a collection of symbols and drawings, the inside was a gallery. Sam blinked, stared around the small space: there were symbols and words and sigals covering a great portion of the walls. There was a large pentagram in the center of the floor – a devil’s trap, if Sam recalled correctly – and even one drawn on the ceiling. There were symbols he didn’t recognize on the walls above and around the single bed, and even haphazardly drawn on the wire-covered glass of the single window. 

Sam’s eyes shifted from the symbols, and fell on the room’s resident. Sitting on the bed, staring at his father, was a boy – young man, his mind corrected, 19 years old if he was four years older than Sam – with short, dark-brown hair and pale skin. He was slim, would probably be tall if he stood, and had freckles dotting his pale features. He was clad in a pair of worn jeans and a black t-shirt, with a long-sleeved, unbuttoned plaid shirt over it. 

Sam heard his father and the psychiatrist talking but the words didn’t register. Apparently one of them spoke to the young man on the bed, because he rolled his eyes and fidgeted with a shirt sleeve, gaze flicking away from the older men in front of him. Green eyes locked on him suddenly, and the young man across the room – Dean - froze. Sam glanced at his father as the man stepped next to him, before turning his hazel eyes back to his brother.

“Sammy,” the young man across the room breathed his name suddenly, and Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. The other recognized him?

“Do you know who this is, Dean?”  
It was the psychiatrist speaking. The question seemed ludicrous to Sam, as his brother had just spoken his name. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be alone with the older boy – the young man, his mind reminded him – for a few minutes. Away from his father’s eyes and the psychiatrist’s. 

He turned his gaze on his father as he asked suddenly, “Can I be alone with him?”

“What?” the look of surprise on John’s face would have been amusing in other circumstances, “You – I don’t know, Sam.” The older man glanced at Dean, worry creasing his forehead.

“I’ll be okay,” Sam assured, drawing himself to his full height of almost six foot, “I just.. I haven’t seen him in 12 years, dad. I just want to talk to him for a few minutes.” His eyes shifted back to Dean; his brother’s gaze was still locked on him, as it had been from the moment the other had spotted him. 

He turned to his father and broke out what Bobby called his ‘secret weapon’: he gave him the ‘puppy dog’ look that John had difficulty resisting. “Please? Just for a bit?”  
John hesitated, glanced at Dean again, before turning to the psychiatrist and asking, “Will he be okay?”

“I think so,” the man nodded, raising a finger to push his glasses back up on his nose, “Dean’s been quite well-behaved. We’ll be just outside, if you wish to allow it.” 

John looked to him again, still hesitant. Sam met his brother’s gaze, stared into those green eyes for a moment. His voice was completely assured as he said softly, gaze still locked with Dean’s, “He won’t hurt me, dad.”

“Okay,” John finally relented, “Be nice to him, Dean.”

If the man on the bed heard him, he didn’t give any indication. He simply sat, almost as if he were frozen, and stared at Sam.

Sam watched as his father and the psychiatrist left the room, leaving the door cracked open slightly. He could see them through the tiny window, standing outside the door; they were staring inside and talking.

His full attention returned to Dean: he was motionless for a moment before he stepped forward, crossing the room toward his brother. He saw Dean’s throat moving as the other swallowed – Dean fidgeted slightly as he halted beside the bed, but otherwise remained motionless.

“Hi, Dean,” he greeted quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I’m – “

“Sam,” Dean finished. The man’s eyes were moving suddenly, studying his face, running over him, taking him in. Sam started slightly but held his ground as the other shifted forward on the bed suddenly, rising up on his knees right at its edge. 

“Just like I saw you in my dreams,” Dean murmured, raising a hand suddenly to brush it against his cheek; his fingertips were warm against Sam’s skin, “Knew you would come. Knew you would find me. You always find me.”

Sam jerked, slightly startled, as Dean’s arms slipped around him suddenly, pulling him forward. He heard the room’s door opening, heard his father’s voice - “Dean!” - as he was pulled into the other’s embrace. 

“Dad, it’s fine,” he managed a glance over his shoulder at his father, and John halted in the center of the room, “It’s okay. He’s okay.” John hesitated before nodding jerkily; Sam shot him a smile and turned his focus back to Dean.

When he slipped his arms around his shaking brother and hugged him back, Dean buried his face against Sam’s neck and whispered, “Sammy. Waited so long, I knew you would come. I knew you would come. My Sammy.”


	2. 2

_When his brother had finally released him from his clinging hug, the other had practically demanded to hear about his life. So Sam had told him about high school; about his best friends, Jessica and Gabriel; about summers at Bobby’s and on campus where his dad taught his mythology classes. For almost two hours he had talked – Dean had encouraged him to continue any time he stopped – and his brother had listened with rapt attention. It was a little disconcerting, to have those green eyes focused completely on him, taking in every word he spoke. The young man had ignored John and the psychiatrist, the nurse whom had entered at one point to give him meds. His focus was on Sam and Sam alone. Any time Sam had asked Dean about his life, the other had muttered, “Later, there’s time for that later. Go on.”_

_In spite of the fact that he was trembling slightly throughout the entire visit with what seemed to Sam like pent up energy, Dean was calm, still. He listened and he watched but he remained, for the most part, in his spot on the bed, leaning back against the wall. It was when John told Sam, “Time to go, Sam,” that the slight smile fell from the young man’s face and Dean’s entire body tensed._

_“You’re leaving?” It sounded like a simple question but Sam could see the uneasiness that crept into Dean’s features._

_“Just for now,” he told the other, “I’ll be back. I will. I’ll be back to see you.”_

_Dean nodded, and Sam stood and followed his father out of the room. He had just stepped out into the hallway when Dean cried suddenly, “Sam!”  
Sam turned and saw his brother moving off the bed, heading in his direction. The large orderlie who had accompanied the nurse to give him his meds caught hold of him; Dean fought his hold, trying to get free. “Sammy!”_

_Sam hesitated and his father dropped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” the man assured, “He’ll be okay. They know what they’re doing here.” Sam gave an uncertain nod, watching as the orderlie exited the room, closing and locking the door between him and Dean._

_He was three yards down the hall when something slammed into the door._

_Sam, his father and the psychiatrist, Doctor Murphy, all turned at the sound. Dean was at the door, face in the tiny window._

_“Sammy! Bring him back to me!”_

_He could see the anger in his brother’s features, the panic in the searching green eyes, as he stared at Dean through the window. He started in surprise as his brother began striking the door with what Sam assumed was his fists._

_“Bring him back! I won’t let you take him! I’ll kill all of you if you hurt him! Sammy!”_

_The anguish in that last cry of his name tore at Sam’s heart.  
“Open the door,” he told the older men next to him._

_“Sam..” his father reached for him, but Sam skirted around him to stalk back to Dean’s door._

_“Open it!”_

_His father sighed, nodded to the orderlie, whom unlocked the door. Sam jerked it open, stepped into the room, and found himself with an armful of older brother._

_“Sam,” Dean’s breath was hot on his neck as the other buried his face there, “Sammy. Won’t let them take you, won’t let them hurt you.” Hands ran over him with a familiarity that said they knew him, had known him for years; searching, assessing, before surprisingly strong arms slipped around him to hug him tight._

_“Dean,” Sam raised a hand after a moment, brushed his fingers through the other’s short hair, “It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be back. I will. Noone’s hurting me and I’m not leaving for good. I’ll be back.”_

_“Yeah?” he barely caught the muffled word, but he could felt his brother trembling, “They’re not human, they’ll take you. They won’t let you come back.”_

_“Dean,” he pulled back slightly, hazel gaze meeting Dean’s green one, “I’ll be back. I promise.” He shot a glance at his father, whom was standing in the doorway, watching them. “Tomorrow?” Sam’s question was directed at John, whom hesitated a moment before nodding yes. He raised a hand, placed it against his brother’s cheek, “I’ll be back tomorrow, Dean. I promise.”_

_His older brother stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his face. Finally he nodded and whispered, “Okay. I believe you. You always find me.”_

_It was instinct alone that drove Sam to lean forward and press a light kiss against his brother’s forehead. He felt the full-body shudder than ran through the other, and Dean practically melted against him for a moment. Sam stroked a hand lightly down his back as Dean held tight to him for several moments longer. Finally the two parted, gazes meeting again._

_“Tomorrow, Dean,” Sam whispered, giving his brother a smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
Dean nodded; he was calm when Sam pulled away and left the room, and as Sam walked down the hallway, away from him._

_It was when he reached the end of the hallway and stepped through the doors that Sam heard his brother shouting his name again. He closed his eyes, continued toward the exit as his father gently grasped his shoulder and told him, “He’ll be alright, Sam.”_

_His heart broke for the brother he had just met, however, and raged – briefly, suddenly and fiercely – at the father who had kept them apart for a dozen years._

 

Sam was up early the following morning, showered and dressed before his father had even finished making his coffee. He was pacing the motel room’s small kitchenette when John ran a hand through his messy hair and muttered, “Calm down, Sam. It will be another hour before they’ll even let us in to see him.” 

Sam huffed and threw himself in a chair across the table from his father. “Do they ever let him out of that room?” 

“Of course they do.”

“Does he ever get out of that building?”

John hesitated at that question, eyes shifting from Sam to his coffee cup. He took a sip of the steaming brew before finally answering, “He gets out on the grounds, sometimes. Depends on his behavior.”

Sam frowned, and his father continued, “You need to know, Sam, that yesterday was a good day for Dean. He – he can be aggressive at times. He’s been known to become violent. It’s why they have him in the secure ward.” 

Sam fidgeted with a spoon lying on the table, “He seemed more scared than violent.” 

“He has those days, too,” John admitted, running a hand over his face, “I told you, he believes monsters are real. He thinks half the staff and half the patients are vampires or demons or some other similar thing.”

“That’s why he has the protection wards in his room,” Sam guessed. His father nodded, and he frowned again. “So what’s wrong with him?”

There was a long silence; John’s gaze was on the far wall. Sam recognized that look – his father was contemplating the question – and waited patiently. After a minute, the man answered, “They think he’s schizophrenic. He hasn’t responded like they had hoped to medication or treatment, though.”

“Were you ever going to tell me about him?” anger laced the question, and John’s eyes shifted to him. The man’s features grew sad and he started, “Sam..”

Sam shoved his chair back abruptly and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be in the car.”   
He left the motel room, leaving John to finish his coffee alone.

 

Less than two hours later, Sam was standing in the front foyer of the hospital. He waited impatiently while his father and Doctor Murphy talked, fingers tapping against his thigh. His gaze went to the older men as he heard the doctor tell his father,

“He was quite agitated for most of the night last night. It’s expected – it’s the first meeting with young Sam there. He didn’t sleep and he –“ The doctor’s gaze shifted to him briefly before returning to John, “- kept calling for Sam. He was still rather agitated this morning. I wanted to fill you in on how he’s doing before you go in to see him.”

John ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He turned to Sam and started, “Maybe we should wait..”

“No,” Sam shook his head, fists clenching at his sides, “I promised him, dad. I’m not going to break a promise to him the day after meeting him. That would just hurt him.” He wasn’t certain how he knew, but he knew without any doubt that his words were truth. 

His gaze shifted to the doctor as the man commented, “I’ll admit, we were quite surprised to see him hugging you as he was. Dean doesn’t allow many other people to touch him.”

Sam nodded, taking in the words, before glancing at his father again, “Can I see him now?”

His father studied him for a moment, before agreeing, “Alright. Let’s go.”

 

Dean was pacing the short length of his room when Sam peered in the small window a short while later. He watched as the other’s startling green gaze shifted suddenly to the door: his brother was against the door suddenly, staring at him through the window’s wired glass. 

“Sammy!”

“Step back, Dean,” the orderlie, Lee, instructed as he pulled a ring of keys from his belt. The young man behind the door ignored him, eyes locked on the youngest Winchester. Lee tapped lightly against the glass, catching Dean’s attention. “Dean, if you want this door open, you’re gonna have to move it.” The young man hesitated, glancing back at Sam: after several seconds, he moved away, disappearing from sight.

Sam stepped into the room as Lee unlocked and opened the door, and found himself (again) with an armful of Dean Winchester. “Hi, Dean,” he couldn’t help but huff a laugh as Dean buried his face against his neck, arms slipping around him to hug him close. It seemed to be the older brother’s preferred way of greeting him. 

“Sammy,” his brother muttered, hands brushing up and down his back, “You came back.”

“Told you I would,” he managed to pull back a bit to look at the other. A frown touched his lips as he saw the dark circles beneath Dean’s eyes and noticed his bruised, cut lip. “What happened?” he met his brother’s gaze, and Dean gave him a quizzical look. “Your mouth, Dean. What happened?”

“Bit it,” the other answered immediately. 

“On purpose?”

Dean nodded, and Sam asked, “Why?” 

The other shrugged and answered, “Happens when I’m –“ he paused, shot a dark look at the psychiatrist and his father, who were standing inside the doorway, watching them, “- _agitated_.” 

Sam frowned and pulled free from Dean’s embrace. Before the other could speak, he took hold of his wrist and led him to the bed. He sat down on its edge – Dean followed suit, eyes on his face. “Don’t bite yourself,” he chided gently, raising a hand to touch the other’s bruised mouth. 

Sam glanced at his father as the other man spoke, warning in his tone, “Sam.. careful. He’s been known to bite.”   
He scoffed, brows furrowed, and shook his head. “You going to bite me, Dean?”

“Never,” the answer was instantaneous, sincere, “Never hurt you, Sammy.” 

Sam nodded, “Good. Don’t hurt yourself, either. No more biting yourself.”  
There was a second of silence before his brother agreed simply, “Okay.”

Sam nodded, a smile touching his lips: it turned into a full-blown grin as Dean shot him a grin of his own.

They were sitting still on Dean’s bed a bit later when Sam motioned to the symbols and wards drawn on the walls. “Are these for protection?” His brother nodded, eyes flicking to the symbols before moving back to him. 

“From what?”

Dean stared at him for a long moment before answering, “There are things in this world that people aren’t aware of, or choose to ignore.“ His gaze flicked to their father, whom was standing across the room, watching them, “Bad things.”

“Like what?” 

“Monsters,” Dean shifted on the bed, making himself more comfortable, “Creatures that would hurt others. Supernatural beings. All the things in those books of folklore John used to have are real.”

“Dean,” John spoke from his place across the room, “Remember what Doctor Murphy told you.” 

“Doctor Murphy doesn’t believe in them,” there was an edge to Dean’s voice as he cast another glance at John, “John doesn’t believe in them. They think I’m crazy.” His gaze turned on Sam suddenly, a frown touching his mouth, “Do you think that?”

Sam shook his head no and teased with a smile, “I don’t know you well enough yet to decide on that. Give me a while.” The other stared at him for a second, and Sam silently cursed himself; he probably shouldn’t have said that, even in jest. _Damnit_. Dean grinned at him suddenly, huffed out a soft chuckle, and Sam relaxed.

The visit, when it was over, ended in the same manner as the previous day’s: Dean clinging to him, listening to Sam’s promises to return; shouting for him when he had to leave the room; and Sam’s heart aching when he had to walk away.

He had just met this brother of his, and already he hated to be apart from him.  
It only made that feeling stronger when they climbed into the car – a black ’67 Impala – outside, and John commented, “I haven’t seen him smile like he does when you’re in there in a very long time.”


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shows Sam his journal, Sam gets a brief tour of the hospital, and he meets an 'angel'.

“How long have you been here?”

They were sitting on Dean’s bed the following morning. Dean sat in the corner, where the bed met the wall, so he could keep his eyes on the door, and Sam sat cross-legged near him. 

Dean shrugged at the question, “Couple years, maybe.”

Sam frowned, fingers plucking at the bed’s white sheet, “And before this one?”

Dean was silent for a moment, head resting against the wall behind him. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “Been in one of these places my whole life, I think.”

Uneasiness crept through Sam as he heard his brother speak what he knew already. He stared down at the bed for a moment before raising his gaze to Dean’s and asking, “You remember anything before .. before these places?”

“You,” the other answered immediately. He could feel a flush touch his cheeks as Dean continued, “I remember little baby Sammy. Sometimes other things, pieces of things. Your best friends, what were their names?”

“Jessica,” Sam answered, blinking at the sudden subject change, “and Gabriel.” He smiled as Dean asked,  
“They’re human? Haven’t noticed anything off about ‘em?”  
“Pretty sure they’re human,” he assured. The other nodded, seemingly appeased by his answer.

“So..” Sam hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should ask the question that was dancing around in his head. Was there a list of questions you weren’t supposed to ask people in mental facilities? Maybe he should have Googled that. He shook his head, silently called himself ridiculous, and asked, 

“What do you do to pass the time?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he answered, “Group therapy, when they let me go. _That’s_ exciting. Read, art classes, yoga, stare out the windows. Same shit everyone here does.”

“Yoga?” Sam raised a brow; he chuckled as his brother smirked and told him, “It’s part of the therapy regime here. I can downward dog with the best of them.”

Dean’s green gaze shifted to the door, which was cracked open – John stood outside it with Doctor Murphy, Sam knew. His brother reached between the bed and the wall, to pull something from beneath the mattress. He hesitated and met Sam’s gaze; after a moment, he offered the notebook he had retrieved.

Sam took the notebook and studied it for a moment. The cover was worn and covered in symbols similar to those that were drawn on the walls and floor. He raised his eyes to meet Dean’s green gaze and found his brother watching him. 

“Can I - ?” Sam motioned toward the notebook, and Dean nodded yes. He flipped it open and found the first page filled with small, neat handwriting. Several symbols, similar to the protection spells on the cover, adorned the edges of the first page. 

“I keep track of things in that,” the other told him, “The things I discover about the supernatural. Can’t hunt them – they frown on that here, lands me in isolation – so I write it down.”  
Sam glanced at him before dropping his eyes to the notebook again. He flipped through the pages, reading a passage here and there, and studying the drawings Dean had added to some of them. He flipped to the end and found that the notebook was filled with Dean’s writing, every page. “How many of these do you have?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, “Seven, last count.” 

Sam opened the notebook again and began to read a passage about shape-shifters. Dean’s information was thorough – the other had written characteristics, telling signs, what they did, and why and how they did it. He had included a list of weaknesses as well. Sam wondered how he had discovered _that_ bit of information: had it been tested, or was Dean theorizing? He silently reminded himself that this was all stuff Dean believed but wasn’t real, and – “Eww. Their skin melts off? That’s kinda gross.”

 _Yeah, way to remind yourself that it wasn’t real, Sam_.  
Real or not, his brother had some detailed information, and skin melting off a creature every time it changed form _was_ gross. 

His hazel gaze met Dean’s green one, and he found that the young man was looking at him in what appeared to be amusement. 

“Such a wuss, Sammy.”

“Shut up! It _is_ gross, jerk!”

A soft chuckle at his exclamation, followed by,“Bitch.”

Sam reached over and lightly smacked his brother on the leg, and Dean shot him a grin. 

 

Sam visited with Dean every day that week. At the end of the week, he and his father were having lunch in a local restaurant when John told him, “You know we have to go back home tomorrow.”

“What about Dean?”

“We’ll come back and see him on breaks from school and work.”

“That’s – that’s months apart, dad!” Sam reminded, brow furrowed. 

“Then we’ll come back and see him some weekends, too,” John assured, cutting into his steak.

Sam frowned and toyed with a French fry lying on his plate. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Sam,” his father shot him a knowing look, “We can’t take him home with us.”

“Why not?”

John raised a brow, and he sat back in the booth, arms crossed and brows furrowed. “Stop sulking,” his father chuckled, “I know you want to spend time with him but we have lives back home, too.”

Sam stared at the other man, his frown becoming almost a glare, “Should have been spending time with him for the past twelve years.” 

“Sam..”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he shoved his plate aside, his appetite gone, “There wasn’t even a picture of him, dad. You weren’t ever going to tell me about him, were you?”

John was silent for a moment, his blue gaze meeting Sam’s, before dropping his eyes back to his food. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“It’s-“

“Later, Sam!” the other man snapped.

Sam fell silent, arms crossed and glare on the table. Fine. He would wait, but this conversation wasn’t over.

 

His visit with Dean the next morning was in the ‘recreation’ room. Doctor Murphy mentioned something about good behavior and suggested that Dean give him ‘the grand tour’. Dean rolled his eyes and pointed to several areas in the room as he named them:  
“Cards. Games. Television. Art is down the hall. So is yoga. Some tour, huh?”

Sam glanced at his brother as the other man leaned in close to murmur, “Not all humans in here.”

“No?”

Dean shook his head no. “See her?” he pointed to a woman across the room, whom was drawing in a sketchbook with crayons, “Shape-shifter.” Sam wrinkled his nose, recalling the passage in Dean’s journal about melting skin. 

His brother pointed to another young man, about his own age, “That guy, vampire. Those two nurses? Okami. They’re native to Japan, so hell if I know how they got here, but there they are.” His eyes narrowed as they fell on a young woman whom was crossing the room toward them. She was about Dean’s age, with curly, dark hair and a pretty smile. 

“Cassie there acts like she’s a goddess,” Dean spoke, loud enough for the girl to hear as she drew nearer, “She’s really a wraith.” Her grin widened and she made a beeline for Sam: she halted with a pout as Dean stepped suddenly between them. “Keep moving, witch,” he growled, voice rough and gravelly.

Sam’s eyes shot to his brother and he stared for a moment. He swallowed hard, shook his head slightly. His brother sounded, in that moment, far more threatening (among other things) than he looked. It seemed to be effective, too: the girl, Cassie, sulked for a moment before turning and heading in the opposite direction.

Their eyes met as Dean glanced over at him: the other smiled and nodded toward the far corner of the room. “Come on,” warm fingers caught Sam’s hand and he was tugged after Dean, “You can meet Castiel.”

They reached a table in the room’s corner, near one of the windows. A young man who looked to be two or three years older than Dean was sitting there, staring out the window. His blue gaze shifted to them as they reached him, and he greeted, “Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam.” 

Sam’s brows shot up – the man knew his name? - and he looked to his brother. Dean simply greeted, “Hey Cas,” as he took a seat at the table. Sam hesitated for a moment before following suit and sitting next to him.

“How’s it going?” Dean asked the other man as he picked up a deck of cards lying on the table’s surface. 

“ _It_ is not going any place, Dean,” Castiel’s gaze dropped to Dean’s hands, watching as he shuffled the cards, “You keep asking and I keep telling you that.”

The three turned their attention to Doctor Murphy as the man approached the table and greeted, “Boys. How are you today?”

Sam supplied a ‘fine’ and a smile; Dean merely stared at the man, even when the doctor addressed him by name. The psychiatrist’s eyes turned to Castiel and he greeted,  
“Hello, Jimmy.”

“Jimmy Novak is a vessel,” Castiel informed the doctor matter-of-factly, “He is a shell, as you have been informed before. I am Castiel.”

The doctor seemed to take the statement in stride: he simply shot the man a fond smile and said, “Yes, you have. Have a good day, boys.” He headed for the woman across the room, whom Dean had proclaimed was a shape-shifter, to speak with her.

Sam blinked, perplexed at Castiel’s words, and Dean just rolled his eyes in the doctor’s direction. The younger Winchester glanced at the older as Dean told him, “Cas is an angel. He’s – borrowing the body he’s in, sort of.”

“An angel,” Sam repeated, eyes on Cas again. He studied the other for a moment: dark hair, blue eyes, shorter and smaller-built than Dean. Sam might have found him hot, in other circumstances. As it was, he wasn’t certain of the rules regarding angels (or mental patients, for that matter). Was it okay to find a would-be angel hot? 

“This body is a vessel,” Castiel explained, meeting his gaze, “You could not look upon my true form. It would blind you.”

“Well,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, taking in what he had just heard, “I really don’t want to be blinded, so ..” He shrugged, gave a sheepish smile, and Dean chuckled next to him. 

Castiel’s eyes raised to his brother at the sound, studied him hard for a moment. A smile touched his lips as his eyes shifted to Sam. “He waited a long time for you.”

The unexpected words sent an equally unexpected stab of pain through Sam’s chest. “I know,” he dropped his eyes for a moment, before raising them to look at Dean, “I’m sorry.” 

“You found me,” Dean reached a hand out to brush his fingers against Sam’s face, “S’okay, Sammy. You found me.” 

“I tried to get him out,” Cas said, picking up the cards Dean laid in front of him, “Is this the fish game? I do not understand how it’s a fish game if there aren’t any fish.” 

“You tried to get him out of here?” 

The other man nodded at Sam’s question, eyes on his cards, “I was sent here to pull Dean from this place but was trapped here myself. Something about this place binds my powers.”

Sam frowned at the words, trying to puzzle them out, “You were trapped in the hospital?”

“Purgatory,” Dean told him, green eyes meeting his, “They make you think it’s a hospital, but you can see it for what it is when you learn how to look for it. It’s Purgatory.”


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't take it well when he finds out Sam's going back home.  
> Sam and John talk about John's reasons.

Two hours flew by far too quickly for Sam. He and Dean were still sitting at the table, talking – Castiel had disappeared a while ago – and he didn’t want to leave. He had become rather attached, and rather quickly, to the brother he had just met several days before. He fidgeted with the deck of cards lying on the table, brows creased in a slight frown, as he contemplated how to tell Dean he had to go back home. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sam raised his eyes and found Dean studying him. He hesitated, biting his bottom lip for a moment. Finally, he sighed and answered, “Dad said we – we have to go back home today. Back to Nebraska.”

Dean went completely still, “You’re not coming back?” The young man was a shade paler suddenly, fists clenched on top of the table.

“I am!” Sam reached out and grabbed his brother’s hand, “I am, Dean, I swear. I just – it might be a while between visits. I will be back to see you, though. I swear it.”

Green eyes searched his features and Dean nodded after a moment. The other swallowed hard before saying, “Okay, Sammy.”

He nodded and traced Dean’s knuckles with his thumb, eyes on the table. “I wish I could see you every day. I – damnit. I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can, though. We – we can write each other.” 

His brother’s voice was little more than a whisper as Dean agreed again, “Okay, Sammy.” 

Sam sighed heavily and raised his eyes to his brother. Dean was watching him; the bewilderment and fear flitting across his brother’s features drove a stake of regret through Sam’s heart. He reached over to press the hand that wasn’t holding Dean’s against the young man’s face, and vowed, “I will be back here as soon as I can, Dean. I’m not going to abandon you or forget about you. I’ll be back soon. I promise you.”

Dean relaxed slightly and graced him with a small smile, “I trust you.”

Sam nodded and squeezed Dean’s hand lightly. He glanced toward the far side of the rec room and caught sight of his father: John was standing with Doctor Murphy, watching them. The man motioned for him, and Sam frowned. 

“I – I have to go, Dean. I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can, though.”

He could feel Dean’s hand trembling in his own, but the other gave a sharp, brief nod. Sam hesitated for a moment before pulling his hand free and pushing his chair back to stand. Dean did the same, and Sam stepped forward to hug his brother. The older Winchester clung to him for several moments; he reluctantly let go as Sam pulled back. He gave his brother what he hoped was a convincing, confident smile as he assured Dean, “I’ll see you soon.”

Sam had just reached his father – the man dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly - when he heard Dean call, “Sammy!”

He turned, to find that his brother was on his feet and stalking toward them. His eyes widened as he caught the anger on Dean’s face. He blinked at the rage, the _danger_ , in Dean’s voice as the other commanded, eyes on John and Doctor Murphy,  
“You get the hell away from my brother!”

Sam looked up at John, whom was watching Dean in concern. 

Two orderlies were at Dean’s side before the young man had crossed half the distance of the room. One took hold of his arm, and he shoved at the bigger man.  
“Get the hell off me. I won’t let them take Sam!”

When the orderlies moved to block his way, preventing him from reaching Sam and John, Dean grabbed a chair sitting nearby and threw it at one of them. It bounced off the man’s shoulder as the other spoke to Dean, trying to placate him. The enraged young man ignored them, eyes on Sam, as he shouted at John and the doctor, 

“You’re not taking him from me again, you sons-of-bitches! I’ll kill all of you if you hurt him! They’re demons, Sammy, don’t trust them!”

It was when Dean took a swing at one of the orderlies preventing him from reaching Sam that they moved in to restrain him. He was still fighting them, cursing and shouting threats, when a male nurse approached cautiously, halting a short distance away. He was holding a syringe in his hand.

“What are they going to do to him?” Sam took a step toward his struggling brother, but John grabbed his shoulder, halting him.

“We have to go, Sam,” John told him, “He’s not going to calm down while we’re here. They know what they’re doing.”

“No! They can’t – no!” 

“Sam,” John turned to face him, looked him in the eyes, “Listen to me. Our presence is only going to exacerbate things. We have to go. He’ll calm down when we’re gone.”

Sam hesitated, eyes flicking back to his enraged brother. Dean was on the floor now, pinned face-down by the orderlies, and still fighting them. 

“He’s going to hurt himself or someone else if we don’t go now, Sam.”

He was still looking back at his brother when John guided him from the rec room. He met Dean’s eyes just as he was led through the doors, and he saw the rage, the fear, the panic that flickered through them.

Dean’s anguished cry of “Sammy! No!” nearly sent him back into the room, but John kept a firm hold on him. He didn’t even realize until he reached the car and climbed inside that he had tears running down his face.

 

“I don’t want to leave him in there.”

They were in their motel room after their visit with Dean, packing for their return home. John was packing, at least; Sam was pacing the room. 

“I know, Sam, but that’s the way it has to be.”

“Why?” he ran his hands through his hair in frustration at his father’s seemingly calm statement, “Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t we take him home with us?”

John stopped what he was doing to turn to him, “You saw how he was in there. He’s not stable, Sam. What you saw what just a fraction of how violent he can be, and has been in the past. We can’t give him the help he needs.”

Sam shook his head and muttered, “You don’t understand him.”

“And you do? He has more issues than you can even begin to realize. You don’t even know him, Sam!”

“Whose fault is that?” he shouted, anger rising like a flood within him, “You didn’t even tell me I had a brother until I found out about it by accident! Whose fault is it that I don’t know him?” 

John snapped, “Enough,” before turning back to his packing.

Enough? That was it? That was his father’s response for keeping his brother _a secret_ from him for a dozen years? He was supposed to be satisfied with the handful of evasive answers he had received over the past year, and drop it when his father said enough? 

Not likely.

“Why did you put him in there?” he demanded, fists clenched in his anger, “Why did you not tell me about him, dad?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,”   
there was an edge to John’s voice, but he ignored it and shot, “Well, I do. You kept us apart for 12 years and you’re still doing it, so I want to know why!”

“I was afraid!” John turned to look at him, grief and pain etching the lines of his face.

Sam fell silent for a moment; his voice was lower, calmer, as he asked, “Of what? He was a kid.” 

“He was a violent kid,” John ran a hand through his hair, making a mess of it, “He was violent, and he heard and saw things that weren’t real. He was obsessed with you and the fear that someone would hurt you to the point that he didn’t even trust _me_ around you.”

The man threw himself down on the small sofa and ran his hands over his face. There was grief in his blue eyes as he continued, “You think I wanted to send my child away like I did? I didn’t, Sam, God knows I didn’t. It hurt me more than I could ever tell you, it still hurts me. My heart breaks every time I see him in there. I didn’t – it wasn’t supposed to be long-term. It was supposed to be long enough to get him some help. He didn’t get better, though. He only got worse.”

John fell silent for a moment, eyes on the far wall. He shook his head, ran a hand over his face again, before he continued,   
“He grew more paranoid, he started talking about monsters and demons and how he needed to kill them to save people. He had increasingly violent spells of anger. I was afraid for you. Can you understand that at all? I didn’t _want_ to send my child to a mental hospital, but I was afraid for you _and_ for him. You were a toddler, Sam, and your brother would go into a rage, eight out of ten times that I would go near you. I was afraid he was going to harm himself or that he would turn that anger on you – “ 

The older man shook his head, closed his eyes, “I didn’t want to send him away but I was trying to keep you safe. I was trying to keep _him_ safe. I didn’t know what else to do, so I sent him to get help. He didn’t get better, though. I talked to doctors, I talked to psychiatrists, hell, I talked to child behavioral specialists and teachers. None of them had any information that could help me help him, beyond what we were doing. He didn’t get better, and I had to decide whether to leave him in a place that may, eventually, find answers that would help, or bring him home and risk your safety and the safety of others.”

Sam swallowed hard at the tears in his father’s eyes as John looked at him and said, “There isn’t a single day that goes by that I don’t hurt over that decision. Every single day. I couldn’t risk him hurting other people, Sam. I couldn’t risk him hurting you.”

When he crossed the room to sit next to his father and hug the man, John held him tight. “I didn’t tell you about him because I knew you would want to meet him,” John told him, “I was afraid he would hurt you, or he would get in a state like he was today and hurt someone else.”

The man sat back against the couch, hands clasped in his lap. “Maybe I didn’t want to deal with the decisions I made, as well. Maybe that’s another reason why I put away his pictures and his things. Seeing them there every day broke my heart. I couldn’t bear it.”

John looked at him as he asked the man, voice almost a whisper, “Is he going to be in there for the rest of his life?”

The man was silent for so long that Sam didn’t think he was going to answer. He didn’t have to answer: that silence _was_ his answer. Finally, John admitted, “I don’t know, Sam. I hope and I pray that we’ll find answers, something to help him, but I just don’t know.”

Sam frowned, eyes dropping to the floor. No, that wasn’t acceptable. He wouldn’t allow his brother to remain in that place for the rest of his life. If he had to wait until he was legally old enough, even if he had to buy a place in the country away from the rest of the world and keep Dean away from other people, Sam _was_ going to get him out of there one day. He had just found his brother and he refused to let him go.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worry makes you do stupid things sometimes.  
> Sam gets worried and attempts to do a stupid thing.

“I can’t believe you have a brother.”

He had been back home for almost a week, and was sitting on the front porch of his best friend’s house. He had just finished telling Jessica and Gabriel about Dean, and nodded now at Jessica’s statement.

“Me either,” he shot her a slight smile, “It’s still kind of surreal.”

“What’s he like?” Gabriel asked as he seated himself next to Sam.

The youngest Winchester bit at his bottom lip for a moment before answering, “They act likes he’s crazy, you know? Dad and his doctor, they said he’s – “ he raised his hands to make air quotes, “ _partially disconnected from reality_. He sees and believes in things other people can’t see. Like monsters and stuff. I guess he’s kinda violent sometimes, too.”

He frowned, recalling his last visit with Dean, the way his brother had attacked the orderlies and had threatened John. He shook his head as he raised his eyes, “It’s – I know all that about him, but I still think he’s kind of amazing. He’s – he’s so smart, he knows practically _everything_ about anything supernatural, and he took classes in there and got his high school diploma a couple years ago. And he’s funny, and I was only there for a week but I know he’s pretty cool, you know? Even with all his issues. He – “ His voice trailed off for a second and he swallowed hard, “He _listens_ when I talk, and he – I don’t know, he makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world.”

He shot his friends a weak smile as he finished, “I don’t even really know him, but it feels like I do. It feels like I’ve known him all my life, and that something clicked into place when I met him. And I miss him.” His friends wrapped him in hugs and support, and he was grateful for it, and for them. Still, he missed arms clinging to him like he was the only thing in the world, face pressed against his neck and warm breath on his skin.

He missed Dean.

 

He entered the house several hours later and walked into the kitchen. He was getting a bottle of water from the fridge when something on the kitchen table caught his eye. Sam moved to inspect it, and found a white envelope with his name and address on it. His heart skipped a beat, a grin touching his face, as he read his brother’s name written as the return address. He had written to Dean the day after returning to Nebraska, and has been hoping that his brother would write him back. Sam snatched up the envelope and practically ran to his bedroom to open and read it.

 

Two days later, Sam started his volunteer position as a team leader and counselor for a two-week-long science and technology summer program. He, Jessica and Gabriel had been volunteering with the program for the past three summers. It was a day program for children up to 12 years old, which allowed them to learn and be involved in science and technology experiences. Sam had been in it for a few years himself, until he turned 12 and began to volunteer as a counselor.

He had reached the end of the first week of his volunteer duties when he entered the kitchen that Friday morning. “Morning,” Sam greeted as he sat down at the kitchen table. He snagged a piece of bacon from the platter sitting nearby as his father returned the greeting. “So what’s going on this weekend?” he asked, crunching on the bacon, “Can we go see Dean?”

“I have a busy weekend, Sam,” John glanced up from the newspaper in front of him to look at Sam, “I have a conference with the dean of the college on Monday, not to mention tests and papers to grade. Maybe next weekend.”

Sam frowned but merely nodded, reaching for another piece of bacon. He refrained from rolling his eyes as John instructed almost absently, eyes on his newspaper,  
“Use a plate, please. And eat something more than just bacon.”

After a quick breakfast, the teen stood and grabbed up the backpack on the floor, near the kitchen door. “Gotta run,” he waved goodbye to his father as he headed out the backdoor, “See you later.”

 

“Tell me again why we’re going to school during the summer?”

Sam smirked as Gabriel followed him up the sidewalk to his house that afternoon, complaining about the summer program for which they were volunteering.

“You like being a team leader and we all know it,” he threw over his shoulder, stopping to grab the mail from the mailbox. He rifled through it as he led the way to the front door: a grin touched his face as he found the letter addressed to him.

“From Dean?” his friend asked, seeing his smile. Sam nodded and unlocked the front door, letting them both inside. He smirked as his friend headed in the direction of the kitchen and followed behind him, opening his letter.

He and Dean had been writing to one another in the weeks since his last visit with his brother. He received letters from Dean every couple of days. It hadn’t escaped his notice that, after the first few, the content in them began to grow more erratic. His brother wrote of monsters, things in the dark, things he was tracking or was tracking him. The letter he held in his hands now spoke of something crawling through the ceilings and hiding in shadows. He knew it was part of Dean’s illness, his schizophrenia, but it concerned him. Not only the erratic content, but the loneliess mixed in the words.

He sat at the kitchen table and finished the letter. Dean’s scrawled _’I miss you Sammy’_ created an ache in his chest every time he read it in one of the letters. Hazel eyes shifted to his friend as Gabriel sat at the table, bag of chocolate chips from one of the cabinets in hand.

"What are you eating?" he raised a brow and shot the other an amused look.

"It's the only chocolate you have!" Gabriel exclaimed in defense, popping a handful of chocolate chips in his mouth, "I don't know how you can live on all that healthy crap you eat. How’s your brother?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, folding the letter so he could tuck it back into its envelope, “He – I don’t know, Gabe. It seems like he’s really lonely in there, and scared.”

“Probably would be too,” Gabriel admitted, “but he’s got you now, and you’re a really damn good friend to have.”

Sam flushed slightly at the words, a slight smile on his lips. “Thanks,” he tucked the envelope in his back pocket, “I just wish I could be there for him more in person, you know? Like you and Jess are for me. I think he could use that.”

His friend shot him a sympathetic smile and reached over to lightly squeeze his arm.

 

It was close to 2 a.m. the next morning when Sam was jerked from his sleep. He sat up in his bed and looked around, panic touching his nerves. It took him a moment to recognize his own room; he couldn’t recall all the details of the dream he had been having, but he could remember that it had been somewhat frightening, and that Dean had been there with him. He could remember that something had grabbed his brother and dragged him into the shadows, and he hadn’t been able to stop it. He drew in a ragged breath, eyes on the ceiling.

He ran a hand over his face as he shoved back the blankets and climbed out of the bed. He sat motionless for a moment, thinking, then got up and crossed to his dresser to grab a pair of jeans.

 

Twenty minutes later, Sam closed the garage door behind him gently, careful that the latch made only a soft click. He knew what he was considering was stupid – he wasn’t even old enough to drive legally yet, and his father would kill him. Still – he couldn’t shake the fuzzy memory of his dream, of something grabbing Dean and dragging him away from him. He flipped on the garage lights and turned toward the car, keys in hand. Sam froze as his eyes fell on the car: His father was leaning against the Impala, arms crossed over his chest.

“Going someplace, Sam?”

“Um..” Shit. He was so dead. “Just thought I would take a walk.”

“In the garage?” John asked, brow raised: the man’s expression told Sam that his father wasn’t buying his line, “With the car keys?”

“I was going to listen to the radio?”

John’s expression darkened, and the man instructed, “Get in the house.”

Sam obeyed, his stomach sinking at the man’s tone. It was that ‘I’m angry but I’m more disappointed’ tone, and Sam always hated hearing it. He went back into the house, entering the kitchen, John right behind him.

“What did you think you were going to do?” John demanded, holding his hand out for the car keys. Sam dropped them in his hand with a shrug and a mumbled, “I don’t know.”

“Did you think you were going to drive to Colorado, Sam? At three in the morning? On your own? Are you out of your mind?”

“I was worried about Dean,” he sat down at the table, “I just – I don’t know, I wanted to see him.”

“So you were going to sneak out, steal my car, and drive 500 miles on your own? Was that your plan?”

Sam fidgeted with an ink pen which was lying on the table. “Something like that,” he finally muttered, glancing up at John. He cringed inwardly as he saw the anger cross his father’s face, and dropped his gaze again. He heard the man take a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Then another.

“That behavior is not acceptable, Sam. I don’t know what would possess you to even think of doing such a thing!” John was pacing the kitchen now. He turned to face Sam as the teen repeated weakly,  
“I was worried about Dean.”

“Dean is fine!” John shot back as he gripped the back of one of the kitchen chairs, “Dean is in a place where he can’t do stupid things like steal cars and take cross-country road trips before he’s old enough to drive! Maybe I shouldn’t have even taken you out there to see him.”

“What?” Sam’s eyes shifted from the table to his father, and the man continued,  
“If it’s going to make you do stupid shit like you were contemplating tonight, then maybe it’s better if I don’t let you go back there.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam shook his head, voice raised in his disbelief, “That’s not – you can’t do that, dad!”

“And you can’t steal cars and drive where ever you please, Sam! You’re grounded for that, by the way, for the rest of the month. If anything like this happens again, I _will not_ take you back to Colorado! I have enough to worry about with the son in the hospital. I don’t need more from my other son and his crazy notions that he can do dangerous things without consequences.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but – “

“No buts, Sam! Anything else like this happens, and I will not take you back there or anyplace else.”

Sam shoved his chair back and stood, fists clenched at his sides. “You can’t keep me from my brother any more!”

“I can and, if you keep this up, I will.”

John’s calming voice, combined with his threat, infuriated him, and Sam shoved the chair behind him out of his way, sending it to the kitchen floor with a clatter.

“Sam!”

“You won’t keep me from him again!” he ignored John’s warning to shout at the man. He turned then and stalked out of the kitchen, in the direction of his bedroom. Slamming the door wasn’t enough to alleviate the anger, and the fear that John would carry through with his threat to keep him from seeing Dean.

Sam kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, fully clothed. He jerked the blankets over his head, muttering soft curses beneath his breath. He had screwed up tonight – it had been an impulsive idea – and now his father was both angry at him and considering keeping him from his brother again. He understood that John's threat was made out of concern for his safety, but the thought of being separated from Dean again hurt on a level he couldn't explain. He wasn't certain why he felt so strongly connected to the man he had met only weeks before, but he did. The thought of being apart from him again, for an indeterminable amount of time, made his heart ache and his skin crawl.

That couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it.

 

He didn’t speak to John for three days, except when absolutely necessary. He felt like a prick for it, but his worry that he had disappointed his father kept him both silent and brooding. He hated disappointing the man, and he was certain he had done exactly that.

He and his father were sitting at the kitchen table on the third evening, when John told him, “Bobby will be here next week.”

“Really?” Sam raised his head from the bowl of cereal he was eating for dinner (in spite of John’s frown), “Awesome. How long’s he staying?”

“A week or two,” John answered, “He hasn’t decided yet.” The man sipped his coffee, studying him, before continuing, “He plans on going to see Dean while he’s here, thought maybe you would want to go.”

“Yes!” Sam answered, almost before his father had even finished speaking, “Definitely, I want to go!”

John shook his head and chuckled, “Alright, alright. Next weekend, then.”

Sam grinned and wolfed down the rest of his cereal. When he was finished, he washed his bowl and spoon and placed them in the dish drainer to dry. He started to exit the kitchen, but paused and went back to throw his arms around John. The man huffed out a surprised laugh and hugged him back, kissing the top of his head. Sam grinned at him before leaving the kitchen to head for his room. He had a letter to write.

 

Dean Winchester received his brother’s letter two days later. When the orderly, Lee, handed him the letter and left, and Dean was alone in his room, he read the names on the envelope and smiled. He sat down on his bed, scooting back against the wall, and carefully opened the envelope. It was laid aside as he unfolded the letter.

Dean read the letter twice, and another smile touched his mouth. His brother, his Sammy, was coming to see him soon. He felt pride build in his chest as he read of his brother’s days, the volunteer program in which he was involved and the things he helped children do and learn. His baby brother was smart _and_ kind. He had known that from the very beginning, though, from the first time he had laid eyes on Sam. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment as he read the last line of the letter - _’I miss you, Dean, and can’t wait to see you’_ \- before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to bite his lips anymore.

Green eyes flicked to the room’s far corner as he heard a deep chuckle.  
_He’s not going to come._  
He frowned, dropping his eyes back to the letter to read it a third time.  
_You’re fooling yourself if you believe he’s coming back. Do you really believe he wants anything to do with his crazy brother?_  
Dean’s eyes shifted back to the corner and the figure leaning against the wall. The tall blond with the piercing blue eyes and the rugged features was watching him, a smirk of amusement on his face.  
_Really, Dean, you should save yourself the heartache and accept now that Sam is not coming back. If he did, it would be out of pity. I mean, look at you, you’re pretty pitiful. He’s not coming back, though._

Dean’s hands were shaking when he folded the letter and placed it in its envelope. He reached between the wall and bed to pull his notebook from beneath the mattress and placed the letter in it, along with the others Sam had written him. He tucked it safely into its place beneath the mattress again before picking up the new notebook he had tossed on the bed earlier.

 _I don’t know why you ignore me. I’m only trying to help._  
“No you’re not,” Dean’s gaze flicked back to the figure in the corner, “Just shut up.”  
_Look, it’s not my fault that your father put you in here and your brother isn’t coming back._  
“He’s coming back,” Dean flipped open the notebook and began to sketch, “He said he was coming and I trust him.”  
_Okay. Keep telling yourself that._  
Dean raised his eyes to find the figure studying his fingernails, a smirk on his mouth.  
The young man frowned again, eyes dropping back to the protection symbols he was sketching on the notebook’s first page.  
“Shut up, Lucifer,” he muttered, trying to concentrate on his work, “He’ll be back.”  
There wasn’t a response: when Dean raised his eyes again, the figure in the corner was gone.

His attention returned to his work and he fought the dread and uncertainty rising within him. He swallowed hard before he repeated, voice little more than a breath in the quiet of the room, “He’ll be back.”

 

It had been several days since his fight with his dad, and the news that Bobby would be coming to visit _and_ he would get to see Dean soon. Sam was speaking to his dad again – honestly, they didn’t fight often and he hated when they did. He was about to enter the room his father used as an office, to tell him that dinner was ready, when he heard the man speaking to someone.

He hesitated – had someone dropped by as he was preparing dinner? After a few seconds, he realized John was on the phone with someone. He was deciding whether he should knock and let his father know dinner was ready, or wait until the man had finished his phone call, when he heard Dean’s name. Sam bit his lip as he took a moment to decide: he moved closer to the cracked open door, curiosity and concern for his brother winning him over, to listen:

_’I don’t know, Bobby. His doctor says he’s regressing. He won’t talk, he won’t eat. He refuses to cooperate, he’s had repeated incidents of violence. He attacked two other patients yesterday, claimed they were ghouls or something. He’s been in isolation three times this month already. Yeah, like he was a couple summers ago. I don’t know, Bobby. I don’t know what the hell to do for him.’_

Sam frowned and knocked lightly at the door. His father appeared several moments later, phone in hand, and he asked, “Is Dean okay?” The man stared at him for a moment, and the teenager muttered an apology for eavesdropping. It was followed immediately by “Is he okay, though?” His father smiled and shook his head before answering, “He’s okay, Sam. He’s having a couple of rough days but it happens. They’ll pass. He’s okay.”

 

He and his friends finished their last day of the summer program the following day. He returned home after it and found another letter in the mailbox, addressed to him. Sam opened it and read it, brows furrowed: it was his name, written over and over. His name covered the page. The letter ended with _’Waiting. Scared. Get scared sometimes, but Sam will find me. Sam always finds me’_ , and he had to choke back tears which threatened to fall.

He dreamed of his brother that night.

 _'Everything’s dark, you know? Everything around me is dark. Except you'._  
_Me? What am I?_  
_'You’re light, Sammy. You’re the light to guide me home'_.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds old letters from Dean, which had been meant for him.

John left for the airport the next morning to pick up Bobby. Sam found the man’s note on the table when he practically stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep. He huffed in amusement as he read his father’s scribble: _"Avoid burning down the house, don't take any unexpected trips across the country, and stay out of my liquor. I'll be back this evening with Bobby in tow."_

The teenager ate a breakfast of leftover chinese food, which had been dinner the previous night. He cleaned up when he was finished and went through the house in search of several books he had been wanting to read, but had put off until his volunteer position had ended. 

He was unsuccessful in his attempt to find the books in his room, the shelves in the his father’s office, or any of the other places he looked. He stood in the middle of the office for a long moment, staring at the wall: where had he put the damn things? It struck him that the last place he had seen them had been in the attached garage. 

He looked around the garage for a few minutes before spotting a pile of boxes sitting near his dad’s old desk, in the garage’s far corner. Sam reached the desk and found the box of books he wanted sitting on top of it. He shifted the box closer and was about to pick it up, when his eyes fell on a small brown trunk, sitting on the floor behind the desk. It was one he didn’t recognize, and he studied it curiously for a moment. Leaving his books where they were, Sam moved around the desk, shoving several larger boxes out of his way, to kneel next to the trunk.

The locks were simple: Two large clasps on either end of the trunk’s front, and a latch in the middle that closed and had a spot for a lock. This one didn’t have the lock, and Sam was able to open it by undoing the clasps and pressing a small button to spring the latch free. He hesitated a moment – this was one of his father’s trunks, he was certain, or one that had belonged to his long-deceased mother. He should probably leave it alone. Still – his inquisitive nature got the better of him, and he opened the lid to peer inside. 

The first thing he noticed was a book. He brushed his fingers over the leather cover, before reaching in to remove it. Flipping it over, he found an old copy of one of his father’s folklore books. A better inspection of the inside cover told him that it wasn’t merely a copy, but a first edition. The inscription in the front cover read _To John, the love of my life. I’ll love you always. Mary._ He swallowed as he read it – it was from his mother, to his father – and laid it aside, carefully: it was probably valuable, even beyond the sentimental value, and he didn’t want to damage it. 

His gaze returned to the trunk, and he pulled out another book. No, not a book, a photo album. Sam flipped it open and stared at the first picture: his father and mother. He flipped to the next page and froze: it was a picture of him as a baby, with a boy whom looked to be three or four years old. _Dean._

Sam closed the book and laid it next to the folklore tome, promising himself he was going to come back to it. His next look into the trunk revealed several stacks of letters, held together with rubber bands. He picked up a stack and, upon seeing the names on the envelopes, whispered, “Shit.” 

Sam put the letters back in the trunk, and replaced the photo album and book. He closed the lid and picked the entire thing up to carry it into the house. He planned on exploring everything in the box, and he planned on being comfortable while doing it. 

 

Sam flipped through the photo album first, taking in the pictures of himself and his brother, peppered with occasional pictures of his mother, or father, or all of them together. The pictures brought a smile to his face, even as his heart ached: he had missed out on an entire lifetime of getting to know both his mom _and_ Dean. Beneath the books and letters, there were several framed pictures, including one of him and his brother. Dean was holding him on his lap in it, beaming up at the camera. Sam was still a baby in the picture. His eyes were on his brother and he was holding onto Dean’s hand.

The first stack of letters came out of the trunk next. He swallowed as he stared at the first letter on top of the first stack: it was addressed to “Sam and John Winchester”, the letters a scrawl reminiscent of a child’s handwriting. Sam hesitated for a moment, then slipped the letter out and unfolded it. 

The handwriting was a child’s, letters carefully written at the beginning, a little more messy toward the end. Several words were misspelled or spelled phonetically. Dean’s name was written on the bottom.

Sam swallowed as he began to read,

_Dear Sammy and Dad,  
I miss you. I miss home. I know I did something that ever-one thinks was bad. I was proteckting Sam, you gotta believe me. It was going to hurt him and I couldn’t let it._

The letter continued in that manner, apologizing for something that had been done, and then describing the environment around him. Seven year old Dean Winchester had written it after being placed in a children’s hospital.

Sam finished the letter and moved on to the next.

_Dear Sammy and dad,  
Can I come home soon? It’s kinda scary here and I miss Sam..._

And the next:

 _Dear Sammy and dad,  
I’m sorry for what I did. Please let me come home..._.

The letters continued in that manner. Descriptions of his days in a children’s hospital; the types of therapy involved ( _had to talk to a lady about why I’m so mad. I’m not mad, but they don’t listen when I say that_ and _I did art therepy today. Drew a picture of me and Sammy_ ); questions and pleas about coming home. The writing improved as the writer aged, developed more skill, grew older. After the second year, the letters were addressed to and greeted only Sam; Dear Sammy letters with mentions of _dad_ in them. After the third year, they started referring to John by name: not dad, not father. Only by name, and only sporadically. There were mentions of the things Dean saw, the things he believed, even in the earlier ones. _Noone believes me, Sammy, but I know you would. I know you would listen to me without looking at me like I’m crazy._

By Sam’s estimation of his brother’s age, based on the dated letters and their postmarks, Dean was ten when he asked the first time, _What did I do wrong, Sammy? What did I do to make him stop wanting me? I know you still want me, though. Right?_

At eleven, there were worries about his safety. _You better be safe. I’ll hunt them down if you’re not safe._.

At thirteen: _I don’t really remember a lot before these places, not anymore. I remember you though, Sammy. John thinks I would hurt you but I wouldn't. Not you, not ever. I swear I wouldn't. Never ever ever._

At fifteen: _Has it really been eight years? God, you're halfway grown up by now. I know he doesn’t give you these letters. He never has. If he did, you would write me back. I wonder if he even talks about me to you. Do you even remember me? I hope you do, Sammy. I know he’s never going to let me see you. He said he would when I stopped believing in monsters. How can I, when they’re all around me? I lied and said I did, I lied for a long time, but he still didn’t bring you to see me._

At seventeen: _I met an angel today. He looks like a regular person but he’s an angel. He said he came to get me out but he got trapped here, too._

At nineteen: _Get scared in here sometimes, Sam. Feel so lost sometimes. I’m waiting though. You’ll come, one day. I dream about you and it helps. I know I don’t deserve you. I know that, but I’m waiting anyway. You’ll find me. I know you’ll find me._

And there were letters from every year, on his birthday: _Happy birthday, Sammy._

Sam read every letter, dozens of them, one after the other: he wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand or the hem of his shirt when his tears blurred his vision too much to allow him to read. The last letter was dated three days before he had finally convinced his father to allow him to visit Dean for the first time. It contained one line, two sentences, which drew a sob from his throat:

_Waited this long, I’ll wait as long as it takes. You’ll find me one day, I know it, and then I'll remember what happy feels like._

 

Sam was sitting on the couch when John and Bobby entered the house later that evening. “Hey Sam,” his uncle greeted with a grin as the men entered the living room. They paused upon seeing him, the expression on his face; John’s eyes fell on the trunk sitting near Sam’s feet, and the stacks of letters on the couch next to him.

“Sam,” his father met his gaze, “I see you’ve been going through my stuff.”

“These are _mine_ ,” anger traced the teenager’s voice as he clenched the fist resting on his thigh. He pushed himself to his feet as his father crossed the room toward him, “These are all addressed to _me_. Funny, how I never saw them before now.”

“Sam – “

“Did you read these, dad?” Sam motioned to the letters, “Did you read how sad and scared he was? Did you read these before you locked them in a trunk and hid them from me?” 

John cast a glance at Bobby, whom raised a brow but remained silent, before telling him, “Now’s not the time, Sam.”

“When is?” he questioned angrily, “The last twelve years haven’t been, so when will the time be? When Dean’s lying in the ground behind some state hospital?”

“Sam!” 

His hazel eyes turned to Bobby and he asked, “He wrote you. Were they like these, Bobby? Did he sound like he was falling apart in them?” Before the older man could answer, he turned on his father again, “Is this what you would do if I ended up like Dean?” The teenager turned and grabbed up the stacks of letters, photos and the photo album lying near them as he spoke, “If I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t? Lock me away and forget I existed?”

“That’s not fair, Sam!”

“Tell that to my brother!” He stormed from the room, ignoring his father as the man called after him. He stomped to his room and slammed the door behind him. He laid the letters and photo album on a bookshelf before throwing himself on his bed.

The thought hit him that he was being cruel to his father, unreasonable. He didn’t want to be that way, but he was filled with so much anger and sadness over his brother’s predicament that he didn’t know how else to handle it. Reading Dean's words had broken his heart and, in what he figured was typical teenage fashion, he was handling those feelings the only way he knew how. He buried his head beneath his pillow, trying to avoid thinking of how Dean must have felt, how _he_ would have felt, how scared and hurt he would have been, if he had been in Dean's situation: it didn't help his current state of emotion at all. 

He was still lying on his bed a while later, staring at the framed picture of him and Dean, when there was a soft knock at his door. He glanced over as the door opened, and Bobby stepped into the room.

“Hey kid,” the man greeted, crossing to stand next to the bed. Bobby’s eyes fell on the photograph he was holding, and the older man reached out and gently pulled it from his fingers. 

Sam saw sadness beneath Bobby’s smile as the man studied the photograph for a minute. He accepted it as it was handed back to him, and smiled a bit as Bobby teased him, “You two were cute kids. Wonder what happened?”

Sam scooted over to make room for his uncle as Bobby swatted lightly at his leg and sat down on the bed’s edge. “Listen, kid,” the man started, “Your dad is doing the best he can.” The man fell silent for a moment, eyes flicking back to the photograph, “You’re young and you don’t understand right now, but he had to make a real hard decision when Dean was a kid. It hurt him a whole lot, but he did what he did to try to help your brother.”

“I know, Bobby,” Sam whispered, tears in his eyes as he stared at the photo of him and Dean, “I really do know that. Just – reading those letters, and seeing him in that place –“ 

“It hurts,” his uncle agreed with a slight nod, “Trust me, I know. Hate seeing him in there as much as you and your dad.” He wiped a hand across the back of his eyes, wiping away his own tears, and continued gruffly, “I was there when Dean was born, same as I was when you were. I saw him grow and I saw what was happening to him. After your mom passed –“ another swipe at his eyes – “after Mary, your dad had a whole lot to deal with, but he did the best he could. Then Dean started showing signs of whatever’s going on with him, schizophrenia his doctor says, and – hell, none of us knew what to do. He tried, Sam, he didn’t want to send him to that place. He was just trying to do right by you kids, and he thought Dean could get some help there.”

Bobby fell silent again, gaze returning to Sam’s photograph. Sam’s hazel gaze shifted to him as the man spoke, after a long pause, 

“I like to think I know you pretty well, Sam. I can tell you got real close to Dean, real fast, and I know that, somewhere in that big brain of yours, you’re trying to figure out away to get him out of there.”

Sam swallowed, eyes flicking to Bobby again, before nodding in agreement.

“Then stop acting like a crazy idjit,” his uncle shot him a soft smile, reached out to ruffle his hair, “and do it right.”

He frowned at the words, puzzling over them: before he could ask their meaning, Bobby had exited the bedroom. Do it right? What did that mean? 

When he entered the kitchen a short while later, John and Bobby were standing at the counter, chuckling together over something as they prepared dinner. The two men turned upon hearing his footsteps, and he met John’s blue gaze. 

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Sam’s voice cracked on the last word and he blinked back tears. He found himself in his father’s arms moments later as the man grabbed him and hugged him close. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice almost a whisper, “I shouldn’t have said all of that. I know you did everything you could.”

“It’s okay, Sam,” John told him, brushing a hand over his hair, a gesture which had soothed him as a child, “I understand why you're upset. I'm worried about you, son. What is going on with you lately?”

“I don’t know,” the tears brimming in his eyes began to slide down his face, and John’s arms tightened around him, “I don’t know. I just, I can’t – “ He hiccupped a soft sob, shook his head, “It’s like, now that I’ve met him, it just hurts to be away from Dean. Like we’ve been torn apart but not just metaphorically.”

“Sam,” his dad sighed softly against his hair, squeezed him a little tighter, “Son, I know it hurts. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean to say things to hurt you. I really don’t. I just -- I know you think I don’t really know him yet,” Sam muttered, face pressed against his father’s chest as a tear rolled down his cheek, “but I feel lost without him, dad. I feel like I _know_ him, you know? And like I’m just completely lost without him.”

He felt even worse for the things he had said to his father as the man hugged him close and murmured, “I know, Sam. Believe me, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, i realise several words are misspelled (such as "proteckting" & "therepy"). T'is on purpose: twas in letters from a seven year old, remember? ;-) (I know it will drive you nuts, Beth, but tis part of the story so shut up! haha)


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visit with Dean, but what Sam finds only increases his motivation to get his brother out.

Three days later, Sam waited impatiently while his father went through the check-in procedures for a visit with Dean. He huffed impatiently – Bobby smirked and nudged him with an elbow – as John and the nurses chatted for several minutes. 

“Finally,” he muttered beneath his breath, drawing another amused smirk from Bobby, as they moved through the hallways, in the direction of Dean’s room.

The first thing Sam noticed when he reached the room was that it wouldn’t open when he tugged at the knob: it was locked. He glared at the door, still covered in its symbols of protection and warding, as if it had offended him. His gaze shifted to the psychiatrist standing near him, and Doctor Murphy pulled a ring of keys from his pocket to unlock it.

He stepped aside long enough for the door to be unlocked and opened, entering as soon as the doctor moved out of his way. Sam paused, eyes locking on Dean, whom was sitting on his bed. He watched, momentarily perplexed, as his brother slowly opened his eyes: Dean blinked upon seeing him and muttered, “Sam?”

“Hi, Dean.”

“’ey, S’mmy,” Dean pushed away from the wall against which he was propped, only to fall back against it again. He raised a hand in Sam’s direction; a moment later, it dropped to rest on his thigh.

“Dean?” Sam crossed the room, brows furrowed, and seated himself on the edge of Dean’s bed, “You okay?”

“S’okay,” the other murmured, voice barely audible and eyes closed, “S’okay now, you’re here. ’m okay.” 

Sam assessed his brother in silence for a moment, brow darkening in anger. Dean was sedated, that was obvious: so much so, that the young man could barely sit up on his own. He opened his eyes, stared at Sam for a moment, before they slipped closed again. His arms were covered in long, red scratches, starting from the backs of his wrists and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, and his lips were bruised and cut: he had been biting them again. 

Angry hazel eyes flicked to the men across the room as he demanded, “What happened to him?” 

“Due to his level of aggression early this morning,” Doctor Murphy answered, speaking to John, “we had to, unfortunately, sedate him.” 

“He can barely sit up!” Sam scooted across the bed to sit next to his brother. Dean’s head rolled in his direction, eyes slitting open. A fierce wave of protectiveness rose up in him as Dean managed to scoot closer, leaning in to rest his head against Sam’s for a moment and murmuring, “S’mmy, my Sammy.” He slipped his arm around his brother, tugged him in so that the other’s head was resting against his shoulder. "I’m here, Dean,” he murmured, pressing his lips against his brother’s forehead. He heard Dean sigh, and leaned in close to catch his brother’s words as Dean whispered,

“Can’t, Sammy. Can’t -- Heart’s crawling out of my chest to find you. I went to hell to save you and they just keep taking you away from me.”

“Dean..” Sam brushed his fingers through the other’s hair, trying to offer what comfort he could. 

Dean murmured against his shoulder again, and Sam caught the words _”lost in here”_ and _”can’t think, Sammy”_. He blinked back tears and hugged his brother close. “I’m here, Dean, I am.”

Sam’s eyes fell on the men standing across the room, and he scowled. 

“Do you see him?” anger traced his voice as his gaze locked on Doctor Murphy, “Do you see what you’re doing to him?” Dean must have felt the tension lining his body, caught it in his tone, because the other raised his head suddenly, eyes open and assessing him. The older brother’s eyes shifted to the men across the room, narrowed at them even as he struggled to keep them open.

“You stay away from my Sammy,” the words were slurred, quiet, but the threat was still there. 

“Sam,” it was John whom spoke, his own brow furrowed in concern for his oldest son, “they’re doing what they have to do to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else.”

The youngest Winchester shook his head, turned his focus back to Dean. He brushed his fingers through the other’s short hair as Dean’s head rested on his shoulder again, and his older brother sighed softly, tilting his head to bury his face against Sam’s neck.

Sam glanced down at Dean as the other murmured against his neck, words for him and him alone, “You’re beautiful, Sammy. Love you.” He continued running his fingers through the man’s hair, drawing another soft sigh from the him, as he murmured, “Love you too, Dean.”

He spent the rest of the visit holding his brother close, arms wrapped around Dean as the other alternated between dozing and staring at him, too sedated to interact much more than that. 

 

Dean was more alert when Sam saw him the following morning. 

He greeted John (though only by first name, not “dad”) and Bobby when their father and uncle entered the room, even shook Bobby’s hand. He talked to the two men for a bit before they took their leave, leaving the brothers alone.

Sam was studying his brother – Dean watched him watch him – when he asked suddenly, “Have you been eating?” The other looked thinner, pale, and had dark circles beneath his eyes.

Dean’s eyes shifted away for a brief moment before meeting his again. “Sometimes,” he answered, “when I have an appetite.”  
He tilted his head as Sam scowled and instructed, “Start eating, Dean.” After a moment, the young man nodded in agreement and said, “Okay, Sammy.”

“Do they sedate you often?”

The young man next to Sam shrugged a shoulder and said, almost off-handedly, “Sometimes they do when they think I’m being too violent or something.” 

Sam scowled again at nothing in particular, eyes on the floor: he didn’t like the thought of his brother being sedated, especially to the extent he was yesterday. His gaze shifted back to Dean as the man bumped their shoulders together: he shook his head with a soft laugh, heart doing an unexpected, funny little dance in his chest, as the man shot him a sweet smile. 

Dean’s eyes flicked to the corner of the room and he stared for a moment. Sam followed his gaze and, upon seeing nothing, glanced at him. Dean rolled his eyes suddenly and said with a slight shake of his head, “Ignore him, Sammy.”

”Ignore who?” he asked his brother, eyes shifting to the room’s corner briefly before returning to Dean.

He saw slight flush creep up on Dean's cheeks at the question. “No one,” the other mumbled, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans, “Forget it.”  
Dean met his gaze as he laid his hand on his arm.  
”Tell me,” he requested softly, “Please?”  
The young man studied him for a moment, biting his bottom lip, before finally answering, “Lucifer.”  
”Who's Lucifer? Tell me about him.”

Dean was silent for a moment, fingers picking at the hole in his jeans. He glanced at Sam – Sam shot him a warm smile, reached out on instinct to brush a finger against Dean’s cheek. Dean relaxed then, leaning slightly into Sam as he answered Sam’s question,

“He’s a fallen angel, or says he is, at least. ‘Course, he also says he owns hell, but that’s crazy. Crowley’s running hell right now, so if he did run it, he doesn’t anymore.”

Sam listened attentively as his brother told him about Lucifer, and how the alleged fallen angel had been talking to him for years. When Dean had finished explaining who the being that only he could see was, Sam asked,

“Are all monsters or supernatural beings or whatever bad?

Dean was silent for a moment, thinking over the question. He shook his head after a minute as he answered, “No, not all of ‘em. Some of ‘em just want to live and let live, you know?”

“How do you know so much about supernatural stuff?”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugged, before reaching up suddenly to brush his fingers through Sam’s hair, “Just do. Sometimes it comes to me when I see one of ‘em, or when I’m writing about ‘em.”

Sam picked up one of Dean’s notebooks, which he had been reading a bit earlier. He flipped through the pages, pausing as he came to one with a devil’s trap sketched in the top corner. “What’s this?” he asked curiosly. 

Dean leaned in to glance at the page and answered, “Exorcism ritual.”  
“Is this latin?”  
The man nodded in response.  
“How do you know latin? Did you learn that in here?” he raised his eyes to meet Dean’s, and the other frowned slightly, thinking. Finally Dean shrugged and told him,  
“Dunno. I just know it. Always have.”  
Sam blinked at the statement and dropped his eyes back to the page. He had taken four years of latin in middle and high school, and he had a natural propensity for it (or so his teachers told him). The writing on the page of Dean’s journal was as good as, if not more fluent than, anything he had learned. “Dean, this is amazing,” he raised his eyes again, to find Dean watching him. The other flushed slightly at his compliment, gave him a wry smile and shrugged. 

“Mm,” Sam had another question, he was certain of it, but the other’s fingers, brushing through his hair, was distracting him. A soft sigh escaped him and he leaned into Dean’s hand as the older boy scratched lightly at his scalp, and Dean let out a soft chuckle. 

“Used to do this when you were a year old and wouldn’t go to sleep,” the other told him, “It would put you out like a light every time.” 

“Might put me out right now,” Sam sighed, drawing another soft laugh from Dean. Dean’s soft assurance of, “I would watch over you if it did” brought a smile to his lips. 

 

It took Lee and another orderly to keep Dean in his room when Sam had to leave a short while later, and both John and Bobby to keep Sam from running back to him. His brother fought the men preventing him from reaching Sam, shouting curses at them, at Doctor Murphy, at John. He broke free once by elbowing Lee in the face; he made it two steps into the hallway when the orderlies took him to the floor and put him in a hold to keep him still. 

“Sammy!” Dean struggled but couldn’t break the restraining hold of the trained professionals keeping him in place, “No! Don’t you take him from me again, John!” 

Only Bobby’s whispered words, almost a plea, of “Don’t, Sam, don’t make it harder on him,” and the tears in his father’s eyes, kept him from running back to his distraught brother’s side.

 

They walked into the motel rooom after parting ways outside with Bobby, who had gone into his own room. John had just closed the room’s door when Sam turned toward him, fists clenched at his sides. “You get him out of that place,” he demanded. 

“That’s not going to happen, Sam. It can’t happen, not yet.”

“He’s a wreck there,” the teenager was shaking in his anger and his worry for his brother, “They don’t care what happens to him, and you don’t know what they’re doing to him. You think they know what’s best for him but they don’t.”

“Sam – “

“They. Don’t. Fucking. Know!” 

“Watch your language, Samuel.”

He paced, agitated, and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it. “You get him out of that place.” There was desperation in his voice as he bargained, “I’ll take care of him. I’ll teach him to interact with society, or whatever nonsense his doctor thinks he can’t do. He’ll be my responsibility. Just get him out.”

“Your responsibility? You’re 15 years old, Sam!”

He knew his words would hurt his father but said them regardless, “And you’re an adult but you failed him. Just like they’re failing him in there. They don’t want him better, they just want him out of their hair because they don’t know how to deal with him.You get him out! I won’t stay here if he’s not with me. And if you won’t let me see him, I’ll go stay with Bobby.”

Anger lined John’s face as he threw back, “The hell you will!”

“Watch me.” 

John fell silent, hearing the sincerity in Sam’s voice. The two stared at one another for a long minute: to his own surprise, Sam broke first, a sob tearing from his throat. His father was across the room in an instant, gathering him in his arms and holding him close.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, dad. I don’t mean to hurt you, I just don’t know how to – how am I supposed to be okay with all of this? How do you do it without it killing you?” He slid his arms around his father’s waist, hugging him tight, “I can’t stand seeing him in there anymore. I come home to you every day, you’re here for me when I need you, even when I’m an asshole, and he’s all alone. I can help him but not when I’m here and he’s in there, and I can’t take it anymore. Please let me try. Let me try to help him. Let me bring him home.”

“Sam,” John hugged him close, pain tracing his voice, “Damnit, Sam. What happens when he hurts someone? When he comes to cut my throat in my sleep or, worse yet, hurts you?” 

“He would never hurt me,” Sam was as certain of that as he was of his next breath, “I won’t let him hurt anyone else. He’s fading away in there, dad, and noone cares, and he _needs_ me. I need to be there for him. I need _him_.”

John sighed and stepped away from him, running a hand through his dark hair. “I need to go talk to Bobby,” he said finally, moving toward the door, “Stay here, Sam. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a while.” 

Sam watched his father leave the room before throwing himself on the motel bed. He stared at the ceiling but didn’t rest: his thoughts were too focused on Dean.


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns some more about Dean, and the boys get a surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short. Also, this is as far as I've written on the story, so it may take a day or so longer to post, as I'll be writing as I go along.

Sam was sitting in the hospital’s recreation room the next morning, watching his brother approach the nurse’s station for his morning meds. The two had been in conversation when a nurse had approached and told Dean it was time for his medication. The young man had scowled at her and muttered, “Piss off, Meg.”

“If they help, you should take them,” Sam suggested softly, reaching out to brush a thumb over Dean’s knuckles. His brother hesitated, studying his face for a moment, before pushing back from the table and standing. He shot Sam another glance, smirked and rolled his eyes, and headed for the nurse’s station.

Sam glanced up at the nurse, Meg, as she told him, “Thanks. It’s usually a battle to get him to take his meds. He has spells when he believes we’re trying to poison him.” She shot a fond look in Dean’s direction – Sam scowled a bit, shifting in his chair, but plastered the smile on his face again as she looked back at him. If she was kind to his brother while he was in this place, he wouldn’t begrudge her of it. She tilted her head as she stared at him, then commented, “He’s real fond of you. Doesn’t talk with anyone else like he does you, except Cas.”

“No?” Sam’s eyes shifted to his brother again, and he found Dean’s eyes on them. Even as he tipped back the small white cup, tossing the pills into his mouth, that green gaze was on them.

“Nope,” Meg shook her head, “He’s a sweetheart when he’s not in the middle of one of his paranoid spells, but I’ve still never seen him smile like he does when you’re here.” They glanced over as a voice behind them remarked,

“That’s because Sam is his soulmate.”  
Dean’s angel, Castiel, was standing behind them. Sam raised his brows in surprise: he hadn’t heard the other approach.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted, giving the man a smile.   
“Hello, Sam,” Castiel moved to his side: Sam blinked as the man reached out and poked the end of his nose. His blue gaze moved to Meg and he greeted, “Hello, Meg.”

“Hi there, my little unicorn,” the woman practically purred, moving to press a hand against Cas’s arm, “Where have you been hiding all morning?” 

“I was working on focusing my powers,” the would-be angel answered, eyes shifting to follow Dean as the man headed in their direction, before returning to her, “Nurse Rhonda is going to want her uniform back. You really should stop taking it.” 

Meg smoothed down the top to the scrubs which made up the uniform. “It looks better on me. This really isn’t even her color.”

“Wait,” Sam stared at Meg for a moment, “You’re not a nurse?”   
The woman shook her head and giggled, resting her head against Castiel’s shoulder.   
Sam looked up at Dean as his brother reached the table, then back to Cas as the man answered,  
“She likes to play nurse. She keeps stealing uniforms out of the nurse’s lockers.” 

Sam stared at the trio for a moment before snorting out a laugh. Dean took the chair next to him, a smile on his face, as Castiel told Meg,   
“You should take that back before she gets here for her shift.” As they walked away, Meg’s arm linked through Cas’s, Sam heard her purr, “Going to help me take it off?”

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s, and he found his brother watching him. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as his brother graced him with a genuine smile, Dean’s bright green eyes taking him in. He dropped his gaze to the table, shy suddenly (and what the hell was up with _that_?), as the older man told him, “I like to see you laugh, Sammy.”

Dean glanced across the room, and his smile was replaced with a frown. Sam followed his gaze and spotted Doctor Murphy. “You don’t like him?” he asked, turning his eyes back to his brother. 

Dean shook his head, fingers tapping against the table top, “Liked the real Doctor Murphy. He’s been a meat suit for a demon for the past couple of years, though.”

Sam wrinkled his nose, “Meat suit? Okay, that’s gross.”   
His brother smirked at his expression and continued, “Tried exorcising him a couple of times. Must have some way to keep himself tied to the body because it didn’t work. Bastard has me sedated every time I try it.”

Sam studied the psychiatrist across the room for a moment before asking, “Are you sure he’s a demon?” 

“Pretty sure,” Dean glanced at the doctor, then back to Sam, “He –“ The young man fell silent suddenly, studying the younger Winchester’s features. His gaze shifted to a spot near Sam’s right shoulder – Sam glanced over but didn’t see anyone - and he tilted his head the slightest bit, as though listening to someone. His eyes dropped suddenly to the table, brow creased, and he bit at his bottom lip. “I know it’s hard to believe, Sam. I don’t know why I can see it when most other people can’t, but I’m not crazy.” His green gaze locked with Sam’s, “I swear. I mean I might be sometimes, but not about that, not about – “

“Dean.”

The older Winchester fell silent, eyes dropping to the table again. He raised them as Sam took hold of his hand and, brushing a thumb over the back of Dean’s hand, assured him, “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dean. And if Lucifer is telling you I do, you tell him he can suck it.” He glanced to his right, where Dean had been staring moments before, and added himself, “Suck it, Lucifer.” 

Sam saw the other swallow hard, eyes searching his face; moments later, Dean leaned in close to wrap his arms around Sam and press his face against Sam’s neck. “Sammy,” Dean’s breath was warm against his skin as the other murmured his name, and it sent an unexpected shiver through him. 

Sam’s eyes shifted to the orderlies who were rapidly approaching the table. “Everything alright?” the one named Lee asked, eyes locked on Dean.   
Sam frowned at the man as he nodded yes. “Yeah,” he answered, tightening the hold he had on his brother, “He’s not biting my throat out, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just a hug.”  
Lee shot him a smile and said with a shrug, “Part of the job, that’s all. Pretty sure I still have a scar from when he bit me.”  
Sam’s brows shot up at Lee’s remark; he rolled his eyes at his brother, even though Dean couldn’t see it with his face buried against Sam’s neck, as Dean muttered, “You taste awful, so that won’t happen again.”   
The orderly shook his head, rolled his own eyes, before he and his companion headed back to their spot near the nurse’s station.

Dean finally pulled back to look at him again, and Sam stared into his eyes for a long moment. His brother raised a hand to brush fingers against his cheek. “I used to ask him for pictures of you,” Dean said suddenly, eyes roaming Sam’s features as if trying to memorize them, “He brought me one, when you were six, and one when you were 10.”

Sam swallowed at the information, recalling Dean’s letters and the loneliness that had been written in them. “I would have sent you all kinds,” he finally said, voice quiet, “If – “ He trailed off, dropped his gaze for a moment.

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean’s fingers brushed through his hair, “I know John didn’t talk about me. I know he didn’t give you my letters.”

“I found them the other day,” Sam reached out to tug at Dean’s t-shirt, “I – I wish he’d given them to me. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“It’s okay,” Dean repeated with a slight smile, “You’re here now. You found me.”

He nodded and told the man, determination in his voice, “Not gonna let you go now that I have.” The grin he received in response had his heart doing that funny little dance in his chest again. 

Sam spent the rest of his visit learning more about his brother. He could speak latin but wasn’t familiar with a lot of current pop culture, for obvious reasons; he thought he liked horror movies but they weren’t allowed to watch them here; John visited him a couple times a year (until this year, when Sam’s visits began), Bobby had visited a bit more frequently; he hadn’t ever had a “real girlfriend” but had kissed a couple who were also residents at the time, several years ago; no, he had _not_ kissed Castiel (Sam thought the blush that touched his cheeks when he answered that question was rather adorable); he didn’t remember very much about his years before the hospitals, except Sam; the only trips he had made off of hospital grounds over the past ten or so years was when he was moving from one hospital to another, four years ago, and a trip to the emergency room when he had gotten in a fight with another resident who was no longer here ( _”damn ghoul, he was strong”_ ) and had a rib cracked. He hadn’t any idea who the Kardashians were (“What’s a Kardashian? That a type of monster? Haven’t heard of that one”) but he was familiar with and had watched Friends at some point over the years (“all the nurses loved that show”). 

Sam was chuckling over Dean’s story of a former resident whom had taken on the personality of Joey, from the show Friends, and had frequently asked others ‘how you doin’?’ and tried to pick up the nurses with cheesey pick-up lines, when John approached the table.

“Boys,” the man greeted, giving them a smile.   
“Hey dad,” Sam returned the greeting, “What’s up? Where you been?” He knew it was time to leave, his father was about to tell him he had to go, but he feigned ignorance of the time. He wasn’t ready to leave his brother yet; he was never ready to leave Dean after these visits.

“I was talking with Doctor Murphy,” his father replied, “Now it’s time to go.” 

Dean tensed next to him – Sam could feel his entire body go rigid. He turned his gaze to his brother as the other grasped hold of his hand, and found Dean scowling at John. Green eyes turned to him, and Sam could see the panic in them. 

“Come on,” John repeated, drawing their gazes. He nodded toward the direction of the hallways which led to the residents’ rooms, “Go get your things, Dean. It’s time to go home.”


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's going home, and it's his first trip out of the hospital in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all the encouraging, lovely, brilliant notes. Seriously. You guys are awesome. :)

_“Go get your things, Dean. It’s time to go home.”_

Sam’s eyes widened at his father’s words, even as his heart leapt into his throat. Was the man serious? Dean was going to be coming home with them? His hazel gaze flew to Dean, whom was staring at John with a look of suspicion. 

“This some kind of joke?” the young man asked, brow furrowed, "because it's not funny, if it is."  
John shook his head no, “No joke, Dean. Maybe Sam’s right, maybe it’s time for a change of scenery. So go get your things. Unless you would prefer to stay here?”

“No!” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and stood, pulling his brother up with him, “He wants to go home! Right, Dean?” He looked to his brother, whom was watching him.  
The other grinned suddenly and answered, “Hell yeah, Sammy, I want to go home.”  
Sam almost knocked Dean over as he threw himself at his brother and hugged him tight. His next hug was for his father, and he almost knocked him over in his excitement, too. 

 

There was a brief stop by Doctor Murphy’s office on the way back to Dean’s room, to pick up his medication and prescriptions for refills. During that short time, the psychiatrist reiterated that he didn’t believe Dean was ready to leave, and he asked John twice more if he was certain of his decision. He spoke to Dean, whom answered in short, clipped responses. When the doctor’s eyes fell on Sam, the youngest Winchester told him immediately, “Not leaving here without him, so you don’t need to ask.” The doctor chuckled at Sam’s determination as he handed John the plastic baggie of medication and instruction sheets on when they should be taken, along with a card with his phone number.

It took less than an hour to pack Dean’s belongings into an old duffel bag he had in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He had four or five changes of clothing, in addition to three sets of white hospital scrubs. Sam shoved all but the scrubs into the bag, after Dean indicated he didn’t want to take them. 

Dean pulled his journals from beneath his mattress and tucked them safely into the top, along with some other notebooks, totaling 15. He had a couple dozen letters from John and Bobby, and all of the letters Sam had sent him were tucked in one of his notebooks. Some toiletries and books were tucked in the side of the bag, amongst the clothing. Sam watched as his brother pulled several small pictures from the drawer of his desk – all three were pictures of Sam, at ages 3, 6 and 10 – and slipped them into one of the notebooks. 

Sam frowned as he watched his older sibling pile a small stack of books on his desk, which he intended to leave for Castiel. Twelve years of his brother’s life fit into one duffel bag? He crossed to stand next to his brother as Dean shot him a look: it took him a moment to recognize it as uncertainty. 

“Scared?” Sam asked softly, joining Dean beside the desk. Dean was motionless for a moment before glancing at him and giving a single nod of his head.  
“It’s okay,” he assured the other, “I’ll be right there with you.” The smile he received in return was small but genuine, and Dean reached out to brush fingers against his arm. Sam caught hold of his hand and clasped it in his own, and his brother visibly relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing outside an open door further down the hall; Castiel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed. His voice, deep and quiet, carried to them as he asked calmly from his spot,  
“Time for you to go, Dean?”

Dean hesitated, glanced at Sam, before answering, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Sam watched as the man ( _angel_ , his mind reminded him) opened his eyes to look at them. The man shifted off the bed, and Dean crossed the room to embrace him. Castiel hugged him back; when he pulled away, he laid a hand on Dean’s cheek. “Be safe. Sam will watch over you.” Sam nodded in agreement as the would-be angel looked in his direction. 

“Wish you could go with me, Cas,” Dean’s voice was gruff with emotion, and he sniffed once.  
“Soon, Dean,” Castiel gave him a real smile, calm and peaceful, “I’ll leave here soon.” His features turned slightly more solemn as he added, “I have things to do yet, and who would stop Meg from stealing nurse Rhonda’s uniform?”  
The two hugged again, Dean murmuring near Cas’s ears words that only the alleged angel could hear. His brother snickered in amusement as Castiel pulled back and stared at him for a moment, before remarking, “I don’t believe that is why the chicken crossed the road, Dean.” 

Blue eyes fell on Sam then, and Castiel instructed, “Take care of each other.”  
“We will,” he promised as Dean returned to his side, “Thanks, for being here for him.” 

John and Bobby were waiting in the hallway when they exited Castiel’s room, Dean’s duffel bag slung over Bobby’s shoulder.

“Ready to go home?” John asked his oldest son. Dean stared at him for a moment before shifting his gaze to Sam. Finally he nodded, and Sam reached out to take his hand and lead him down the hall. 

 

Dean followed Sam out of the hospital without any hesitation. He didn’t pause in the building’s entrance, he didn’t stop to talk to the nurses who called goodbye. He waved and continued forward. It was when they reached the parking lot and were several feet from the Impala that the young man halted suddenly.

“Dean?” Sam turned to his brother as he was pulled up short; he was still holding onto Dean’s hand. He saw the other staring at the car. Before he could ask, his brother grinned suddenly and moved forward, pulling him along. 

Sam watched as Dean brushed his fingertips along the Impala’s hood. “I remember her,” green eyes shifted to him, “I remember riding in her, and you in your carseat, in the back.” Dean peered in the passenger window, and his smile returned. “Remember long trips in her.”

“Not sure we took any long trips in her,” John stated as he moved to unlock the passenger door, “This one might be the first. Hop in.” Their father moved to unlock the trunk so Bobby could place Dean’s duffel bag in it.

Sam looked at Dean as his brother stepped close and murmured, “Well, _I_ remember taking long trips in her, with you.”  
Sam shot him a grin and opened the back door. He climbed in, pulling his brother in behind him: Dean was still holding tight to his hand, as if he was afraid Sam would disappear if he released his hold on him. 

They were backing out of the parking space several minutes later, and heading toward the parking lot’s exit, when Dean turned in his seat to look back at the hospital. Sam studied him, saw the mixed emotions which crossed his face. Excitement, disbelief, uncertainty. How must it feel, he wondered to himself, to walk out of a place you had been held for more than a decade? His brother glanced over at him and grinned suddenly, a bright, beautiful grin. Sam returned it with one of his own, shifted to look back at the hospital himself. He spotted Dean’s psychiatrist, Doctor Murphy, standing out on the sidewalk in front of the building, watching them pull away. 

The two stared out the back window, like little kids, until the hospital was out of sight. Sam shifted forward in his seat again, buckling his seat belt; Dean watched him for a moment, before mimicking him and doing the same. It lasted approximately five seconds before Dean unbuckled his belt and scooted across the seat to sit closer to Sam. He felt the warmth of Dean’s thigh and shoulder pressing against his own; moments later, warm breath hit his neck as the other rested his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Am I really going home, Sammy?”  
Dean’s voice was small, uncertain, scared, and Sam slipped an arm around his shoulders to hug him closer. “Yeah, Dean,” he whispered, pressing his face against Dean’s soft hair and rubbing a hand up and down his arm, “You’re really going home.” 

The next two hours of their almost-7-hour trip to Nebraska was spent with Dean staring out Sam’s window, watching the passing scenery and holding onto his arm. Sam didn’t mind the clinging or having his brother pressed against his side to stare out his window. The look of almost-awe on Dean’s face would have kept him silent, even if he had minded. Which he didn’t, so it wasn’t an issue. His brother had been off hospital grounds only a handful of times in the past dozen years, and Sam could understand why he was captivated by the passing scenery outside the car.

They were in Brush, Colorado, an hour later, when Bobby told John, “If we don’t stop for food soon, I’m going to start gnawing on the seat.” Sam didn’t hear his father’s comment, but the two men snorted laughter before John called back over the music from the radio, “You boys hungry? We’ll stop and get some lunch.” 

Five minutes later, his father pulled the car into the parking lot of a diner called Digger’s. “About damn time,” Bobby grumbled good-naturedly as he opened the passenger door and climbed out of the car. John followed suit, throwing teasing barbs at the other man.

Sam was about to open the car door when he felt Dean tense up beside him. He looked over at his brother; Dean was staring out the window at the small restaurant. The look on his face bordered fear, and he swallowed hard as he studied the place. 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam took hold of his brother’s hand, and Dean’s eyes shifted to him, “I’m right here.” Dean nodded, and Sam opened the car door and scooted out. The other followed him out of the car, closing the door behind him. They followed John and Bobby toward the restaurant – the men went inside ahead of them - but Dean halted again when they were almost to the front door. 

“Dunno if I can do this, Sammy,” his brother’s voice cracked on his name, his eyes riveted to the diner windows and the people inside. 

“You can,” Sam soothed, reaching out to touch Dean’s cheek. It drew his brother’s attention to him and, after a moment, Dean relaxed slightly. “If you get in there and feel like you can’t, we’ll come back out to the car.” He took Dean’s hand as his brother nodded and led him inside.

Dean relaxed once they were inside the restaurant and he took several moments to scan the place. He muttered an “okay” that only Sam heard, and followed Sam to the booth where their father and uncle were waiting.

“Everything alright?” Bobby asked as they slid into the bench seat across he and John. Sam glanced at Dean, whom was sitting next to the wall, watching him. He nodded yes, smile on his face, and took the menu John handed him.

Even knowing that his brother had spent the last dozen years in a hospital didn’t prepare Sam for the fact that Dean had never tried chili cheese fries. He had stared and asked, “No way. You’re kidding?” upon receiving that bit of information. Dean had chuckled and, with a shrug, told him, “Never had ‘em in the hospital.”

That? _That_ was what Sam would consider crazy-talk. He ordered a double order – “Like the biggest order in the world”, he told the waitress, whom giggled and wrote down ‘large’. He ended up ordering Dean’s burger, too, when his brother shrugged and said, “Dunno, what’s edible?” 

The burgers were good, the chili cheese fries were better. John and Bobby looked on in amusement, and Sam grinned, at the pleased surprise on Dean’s face after his first bite of both foods. When Bobby pulled his cell phone and snuck a few pictures of Dean’s pleased expression, and then of him and Sam, Sam rolled his eyes and told his uncle with a smirk, “If you put those on Facebook, I’m going to kick you.”

“What’s a facebook?” his brother asked, focus switching from his food to their conversation. He huffed a laugh and promised, “I’ll explain later.” He slid the plate of fries closer to his brother and asked, “Good, right?” There was a nod of affirmation, and Dean told him, “Food was never this good in the hospital.” 

John and Bobby were sitting up at the diner’s counter a short while later, drinking coffee, and Sam and Dean had just been delivered several pieces of pie to their table. Dean picked up his fork and poked at his; Sam couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. The other shot him a slight grin and informed, “The pie there? Not all that great.”  
“This will be better,” he promised with a smile. Dean shot him a glance, shrugged and forked a bite into his mouth. 

The sound Dean made upon tasting the pie was almost a moan, and Sam stared at him. He swallowed hard as his brother took another bite and practically moaned, “Damn, this _is_ good.” He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he watched his brother lick whip cream from his lips, then from the fork. 

Dean’s eyes fell on him, caught him staring, and the other shot him a grin. “Wanna bite?” His brother lifted the fork to his mouth and he opened, accepting the bite of pie, almost without thought. He blinked – it _was_ good – and Dean winked at him. He felt himself flushing again, and his brother stared at him for a moment, head tilted slightly. Dean’s eyes dropped to his mouth – Sam had to bite down the whimper that wanted to escape his throat as the other licked his lips again. His entire body had taken notice, it seemed, and he shifted where he sat.

Both boys started slightly as they heard the waitress suddenly, “Pie good, boys? You need anything else?”

Sam shook his head, cleared his throat and told her with a smile, “We’re good, thanks.” He turned his attention to his own pie when she walked away. He could feel Dean’s gaze on him but didn’t dare look at his brother for the next few minutes: he was half-afraid he would crawl onto the other’s lap if he did, in front of John, Bobby, and everyone else in the place.

It took him several minutes to realize that it was _his brother_ causing those reactions in him, and a minute more to think, ‘What the hell?’


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief chat, and Dean gets to see home for the first time in 12 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work & bronchitis has worn me out the past couple of days. Whew. Finally alert enough to update.  
> This one's a bit short, apologies. Blaming work/being sick/too tired to write. Next one will be longer!

They were on the road again after lunch, Bobby behind the wheel and John in the passenger seat. Sam had dozed off after an hour or so, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s attention shifted between the passing scenery and his little brother. He had a difficult time, sometimes, believing that he had Sam in his life again. Twelve years of waiting and wishing and hoping, and here he was now; sitting next to the brother he hadn’t been certain, at one point, he would ever see again.

The fact that he was sitting in the backseat of the car he remembered, heading away from the hospital and toward a place his brother called home? Mind-blowing. He hadn’t yet wrapped his mind around that one, and half-feared it was some type of surreal dream (or delusion) and would be torn away from him.

Sam’s head on his shoulder grounded him, though, and kept back the shaking and the panicked beliefs that he _was_ only dreaming again.

Dean’s eyes shifted from the outside of the car to the front seat, and he found John watching him. He stared at the man for a moment before glancing away again.

“Doing okay, Dean?” 

His gaze returned to the man at the question, and he studied him for a moment before nodding yes. Those blue eyes met his, and the man in the front seat told him,

“I’m sure it’s a little overwhelming right now. It will get better.” John’s gaze shifted to Sam briefly, before returning to Dean, “I realize this is all a huge change for you, and it will take some adjusting. Just – it’s like we discussed in Doctor Murphy’s office: you have to take your meds and if you need help, you come to me or call him.”

Dean nodded, eyes shifting to stare out the window as the scenery flying by caught his attention. His green gaze returned to John as the man spoke again,  
“Dean.. I hope you can understand, at least to some degree, why I did what I did when you were put in the hospital.”

He stared at the man for a moment before replying honestly, “Not really.”

John’s brow furrowed, slight frown touching his features as he took that in. He ran a hand over his face after a moment and sighed, “I guess you can’t. I was trying to help you.”

“So you’ve said,” the young man met John’s blue gaze again. His arm tightened slightly around his sleeping brother, “I know you think I’m crazy but I’m not sure why you thought keeping Sammy from me would change that.” 

There was several moments of silence: Dean caught Bobby’s gaze in the rearview mirror as his uncle glanced back at him. His attention shifted back to John as the man finally replied, 

“I was trying to help you and I was trying to protect him.” Sadness touched his eyes, traced the lines of his face. Dean was still for a moment before he nodded – protecting Sammy, he could understand. 

John turned to face forward again as Bobby spoke to him, and Dean’s attention returned to Sam’s window. He glanced over at his own window as he heard,

 _ **That** was an awkward conversation._  
Lucifer was sitting in the space between him and the door. 

“Didn’t I leave you back at the hospital?” he muttered to the being, drawing a laugh from the so-called fallen angel. 

“Hmm?” John glanced back at him, “You say something?”  
“Nope,” Dean answered, ignoring the smirking blond next to him.  
John’s attention returned to Bobby and the road ahead, and Dean glanced at Lucifer again.  
_Not getting rid of me that easy, Dean. I’m gonna be with you always and forever._  
He glared at the being as Lucifer smirked at him. He was aware that Lucifer was what those in the psychological profession considered a hallucination. Didn’t stop him from hearing him, though. 

Sam shifted beside him, and Dean glanced down at the teenager. A smile touched his lips as he brushed his fingers through Sam’s longish hair. The younger Winchester sighed softly in his sleep and shifted closer, and Dean tightened an arm around him. He glanced over at Lucifer again, found the blond staring at him, and laid his head back against the leather seat.

 

One rest stop and two hours later, they reached Lincoln, Nebraska. Sam was awake and watching Dean watch the passing scenery. His brother’s near-awe at some of the passing sights was both fascinating and heart-breaking.

Sam heard a chime, and leaned down to pull his cell phone from the pocket of the jacket he had tossed to the floor earlier. He keyed in the passcode and watched as a text message popped up. It was in response to one he had sent his best friends earlier, which had read, “Heading home & guess what Dean’s coming home with us!!!!”

He read the message from Jessica, which was a response to his earlier message:  
‘Omg ur kidding tht’s gr8! R u freaking out lol I wld be! cn’t wait to meet him!’

Sam glanced over and found Dean watching him. He tilted the phone so his brother could view the message and told him with a smile, “My friends are excited to meet you sometime soon.”  
Dean stared at the text message; after a long moment, he blinked and asked, “What language is that?”  
Sam couldn’t contain his laugh as he answered his brother’s question, “Text speak. It’s – well, basically it’s hacking the English language to shorten it so you don’t have to type as much.”  
Dean’s counter-response of “Well, that’s just sad,” brought another laugh from him. “Yeah,” he agreed, “It is, kind of.” He glanced out the window and a grin touched his features: They were driving through his neighborhood, now. “There’s our house,” he pointed at a place several houses down the street, and Dean stared out the window as they drew closer to it. 

They pulled into the blacktop driveway a minute later, and John glanced back at them. “Welcome home, Dean,” the man said softly, a smile playing at his lips. Dean’s eyes shifted from him to the house again; Sam heard the dry click of his throat as the young man swallowed, staring at the residence. Bobby cut the engine and he and John climbed out of the car, moving around it to the trunk.

“You okay?” he asked his brother, eyes on Dean’s face. Dean’s eyes shifted from the house to him: Sam could see the uncertainty in the young man’s green gaze. He studied his brother for a moment before leaning out his window. When John moved around the car again, Dean’s duffel slung over one shoulder, Sam told him,  
“We're going to sit out here for a minute.”

John hesitated, looking down into the car at them, and Sam assured him, “It’s okay, we’ll just be a couple minutes. Dean just needs a minute.” His father glanced at Bobby as the man clasped him on the shoulder before nodding in agreement. Sam watched them head up the drive, toward the house, then turned his attention back to Dean.

”I used to imagine this place when I was younger,” Dean said quietly, “I would try to remember what home looked like, but after a while I couldn’t. So I tried to picture it, how it would be.”  
He glanced at Sam as the younger Winchester reached over and grasped his hand; Sam swallowed, heart aching for his brother, as he watched a tear slip down Dean’s cheek.

“Dean,” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against Dean’s as his brother looked over at him, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to – I’m sorry.” 

“Keep thinking this is a dream,” the other squeezed his hand lightly, “I’ll wake up and I’ll be back in my room, or in the quiet room, back at that damn nuthouse. You’ll be gone and I’ll be alone again.”

“You’re not,” Sam hugged his brother close to him, “You’re not alone anymore. I won’t let you be alone anymore. I promise.”

The two sat in the Impala for a while, Dean staring at the house and Sam holding his brother close. When his brother had stopped shaking in his arms, breathing steady again, Sam asked softly, “Want to go inside?” The other nodded and he smiled, leaned in and kissed Dean on the forehead. He felt the shiver which ran through his brother as the gesture, heard the soft sigh; it was with reluctance that he let Dean go so he could open the car door. 

He reached for Dean’s hand as they climbed out of the car and held it as they moved up the driveway. When they reached the front door, Sam shot his brother a grin. Dean gave him a small, nervous grin in return, and Sam led him into the house. 

 

This was not the house Dean and Sam had lived in when they were born or when Dean was sent to the first of several hospitals. Sam didn’t remember that house very well: his father had moved them to Lincoln for his teaching job several years after Dean’s admission to the children’s hospital. This was the house he had grown up in for the last nine years. It was this house he led his brother into now, tugging at his hand when Dean seemed hesitant. 

He led his older brother through the living room, waiting patiently when Dean paused to study the pictures on the walls. He knew that the other had to notice there was only one picture of Dean – Sam had hung it before making this last trip to see the young man. His brother remained silent about it, moving instead to the pictures of Sam. A grin touched Dean’s mouth as he paused in front of one in which Sam, seven or eight at the time, was sitting on a pony, dressed as a cowboy.

“Cowboy Sammy,” the man aimed his grin at him, and Sam rolled his eyes, even as he smiled himself, “Look how adorable you were.”  
“Shut up,” he muttered, embarrassed, “I was like three in that picture. And what do you mean, was? I’m still adorable!” Dean chuckled and followed him through the dining room, into the kitchen.

John and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, talking, when they entered. The men fell silent upon seeing them; John shot them a smile and suggested, “I put Dean’s things in his room, next to yours, Sam.” That had been Bobby’s suggestion. John had balked at the idea of having them room next to one another – he was still uncertain of Dean’s moods and behaviors and how he would react to things – but Bobby had reasoned that Dean would feel more comfortable, even safer, closer to Sam. “Why don’t you show him where everything is and we’ll get him settled in.” 

Sam nodded and tugged his brother through the kitchen, down the hallway toward the bedrooms. 

John shot Bobby a glance as he told the other man, “Doctor Murphy tried to talk me out of signing him out. He didn’t believe Dean is ready for this. Am I making a mistake, Bobby?”

Bobby’s eyes shifted to hallway the brothers had entered, and he shook his head. “I don’t know, John. You know he can come and stay with me if things get out of hand here. But after seeing them together I’m starting to think that, if there’s anyone who can help him, it’s Sam.”

 

When he reached the room that was now Dean’s, Sam halted outside the open door. “Your room,” he told his brother, “and mine’s right there.” He pointed to the room next to Dean’s, “So I can bang on the wall and keep you up all night.” 

Dean shot him an amused smirk before turning his gaze to the bedroom which was now his. He stared at the space for a long minute – walls painted a shade of cream, bed coverings which were navy blue, dresser and closet and the rest of the furnishings. His green gaze shifted to Sam again; the younger boy huffed out a surprised breath as Dean grabbed him suddenly in a tight hug. 

“Dean,” Sam murmured, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair as his brother pressed his face against his neck, holding him tight, “S’okay, Dean. You’re home now.”


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's first week 'home'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter here.  
> Hope it doesn't feel too 'rushed'. Our boys keep jumping ahead of me in this story and I'm just writing to keep up, at this point!

Dean had tossed his duffel bag on his bed when he finally entered his bedroom, stating he would put his things away later. He had spent five minutes in the room, looking it over and checking the closet. When finished with his cursory exploration, he had requested to see Sam’s ‘space’. 

They were in Sam’s room now: Sam was sitting on his bed, watching as his brother roamed the room, inspecting everything. Fingertips brushed against the laptop on his desk, over the spines of the books on his bookshelf. The young man studied the posters on the wall, the pictures of Sam and his friends taped to the mirror or in small frames on the bookshelves, and various other objects. He actually picked up Sam’s recently acquired framed picture of he and Sam, which had been sitting on the desk, and stared at it for several minutes, before replacing it to continue his exploration.

Sam allowed it, watching in silence as Dean touched and looked at everything. When his brother turned to him finally, he patted the spot next to him on his bed. Dean crossed to room to perch himself on the bed next to him, and Sam asked,  
“You okay?”

Dean nodded, glancing around the room. “It’s – different,” the man admitted, shooting him a sheepish smile, “Colors and pictures and stuff. It’s – I like it, I like learning who you are.”

He smiled and told the other, “I’ll show you the rest of the house when you’re ready.” He stretched out to lie on his back, grabbing Dean’s wrist as he did and tugging the other down next to him. Dean stared at him for a moment, green eyes studying his features, before shifting his gaze to the ceiling. 

“Sam.”

“Yeah, Dean?” 

“What if – “ Dean’s voice trailed off for a moment before he continued, “What if I can’t adjust to – to all this. I don’t know if I’m going to know how to – “ He fell silent, swallowed hard, hands clasped tight together on his stomach.

Sam rolled onto his side to study his brother – he saw the tension and the nervousness in the other – and assured him gently, “We’ll learn how together, okay?” Dean’s eyes shifted in his direction, and the man nodded yes. 

“You’re not alone anymore,” he reached out to brush his fingers against Dean’s cheek and up through his hair, and his older brother exhaled softly, slight shiver running through him. Green eyes met his hazel ones, focused on him and him alone, and Sam felt heat rise to his cheeks. His eyes roamed the other’s perfect face, took in the freckles, the line of his jaw, the full lips. 

“Sammy,” his brother murmured his name, barely a breath. The low-pitched, husky timbre of it sent a stab of heat straight through him, and he pulled away and sat up abruptly, clearing his throat. 

When he glanced at Dean a minute later, his brother was still watching him, a hint of a smirk touching his mouth. 

 

Dean was in the shower a short while later, and Sam was in his room, texting Gabriel. He raised his head from his phone when he heard John’s voice in the hallway,

“Uh.. Dean?”

“Huh?” his brother’s voice carried from the bathroom.

“You, uh, can close the door when you’re showering.”

“Oh. Huh. Okay.”

“I’ll just get this for you..” followed by the sound of the bathroom door shutting softly.

Sam snickered at the exchange: harder as his father appeared in his open doorway, hand rubbing at the back of his neck and embarrassment on his face. 

“I guess they didn’t have doors on the showers in the hospital?” his father surmised, giving him a mock glare for his laughter, “Or left them open? This might take some getting used to.”

Sam nodded, smirk in place. John rolled his eyes at him before informing him, “I’m going to go finish dinner.” Sam nodded again; when his father disappeared from view, he grinned and dropped his gaze back to his phone.

 

When Dean had finished his shower, Sam showed him the rest of the house. They ended up in the kitchen, where John and Bobby were sitting at the table, beers in front of them.

“How you settlin’ in, Dean?” Bobby asked, eyes on the young man.  
Dean shrugged in response, following Sam’s lead as Sam took a seat at the table and sitting next to him. “Okay,” he finally answered, “It’s – it’s different.” 

“It will take some adjusting,” their uncle noted, “We’re right here if you need us.” 

Dean nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. It made Sam wonder what was running through his head. When his brother glanced at him, he read the look in those green eyes and frowned slightly. It had to be strange for the other, he realized; Dean had been locked away for a dozen years, on his own, and here he was now, suddenly free and offered support from the family whom had put him there in the first place. That thought made _him_ uncomfortable, and he shifted in his chair. 

“Come on,” he suggested to his brother as he suddenly pushed away from the table, “Let’s go for a walk.” Dean rose to his feet without question, prepared to follow him. Sam glanced at his father as John spoke,  
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Sam.”  
Sam saw Dean’s eyes narrow as he stared at their father. “I’m not going to hurt your neighbors, John,” sarcasm touched the young man’s voice, and John sighed and shook his head,  
“That’s not what I meant, Dean.”

Sam intervened and compromised, “We’re just going into the backyard, dad.” His father nodded, and he motioned for Dean to follow him as he led the way out the backdoor and into the backyard. 

Sam led the way to a large tree in the corner of the backyard. He dropped to the ground next to it, leaning his back against the wide trunk. Dean followed suit, knee pressed against Sam’s.

“Sorry about that,” his brother said quietly once they were seated. He nodded toward the house, “in there.”

“It’s okay,” Sam laid his head back against the tree, eyes on Dean, “Just gotta get used to each other.”  
“Hmm,” came the noncommittal response. It brought a smirk to his mouth, and Dean asked, “What?”  
“You,” he answered.  
“What about me?”  
“Just you.” He grinned at the perplexed look which crossed Dean’s face and bumped the other’s knee with his own, “I’m glad you’re here, that’s all.”  
“I’m glad I’m here too, Sammy.”

Dinner was far less awkward than it could have been. Sam didn’t mention the fact that all the larger cooking knives had suddenly disappeared from their drawer, something he noticed as he was helping Bobby set the table. John and Bobby kept up a conversation during the meal about work and the classes John was teaching in the upcoming school year. Bobby shared several stories about people he knew and had worked with, which had all of them chuckling.

Sam was learning already to read his brother’s expressions and mannerisms, and didn’t miss that Dean observed them and their interactions. The young man was quiet through most of the meal, and appeared a bit overwhelmed by the end of it. Sam came to his rescue by excusing them from the table, promising to help with dishes later, so he could “introduce Dean to the joy that is Netflix”. 

They were sitting on the living room couch a short while later, watching Criminal Minds with the lights out. Sam glanced over at his brother, watched the way the television’s light played illuminated his face. He swallowed and turned his gaze back to the television, trying to distract himself from the thought that leapt into his head: his brother was fairly damn stunning. 

It was during the third episode of the show that Dean began to yawn. “Tired?” Sam asked, “You wanna go get some sleep?” He laughed softly as his brother shook his head immediately and answered, “Wanna stay here with you.” He reached for a throw draped over the back of the couch and unfolded it, then covered them with it. A contented sigh escaped him as Dean’s arm slid around his shoulders, tugging him close.

 

When John entered the living room an hour later, he found the lights out, the television on, and both of his sons asleep on the couch. Sam was practically cuddled against Dean, head resting against his shoulder, and Dean’s head resting against Sam’s. The smile that was tugging at his lips faded as he saw the way Dean’s arms were wrapped around the youngest Winchester, holding him close. 

He realized that his oldest son’s relationship with his youngest’s was still in the beginning stages, and that Dean adored the teenager already. He also realized that Sam was the only person Dean really trusted at the moment, and that his entire life had been uprooted in the course of 24 hours. 

It was Dean’s obsession with Sam that had begun to raise questions regarding his well-being 12 years ago. John knew he had to move past that line of reasoning and give his oldest son a chance. Still – it was hard to shake the concerns, the fears, that had been with him for most of his son’s life, and seeing him latch onto Sam as he had brought those close to the surface.

John glanced over his shoulder as Bobby entered the room behind him. The other man stared at the sleeping boys for a moment before glancing at him. “Should we wake ‘em up and send ‘em to bed?” Bobby asked.

John’s eyes returned to his sons, and he shook his head. “Nah. They’re okay. Let them sleep.” 

 

Sam stretched and climbed out of bed the following morning, rubbing a sore muscle in his neck. He had woken at close to 3 a.m., wrapped in Dean’s arms – his brother had woke immediately when he had shifted – and they had gone to their respective bedrooms to sleep. 

Sam padded down the hallway to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. When he was finished, he moved toward his room again, pausing outside Dean’s bedroom door. 

Sam knocked lightly on Dean’s door before opening it and entering. He had taken two steps into the bedroom when he halted in surprise. 

“Oh my God,” he breathed, trying to fight down laughter. 

Dean had, at some point between going to bed and now, drawn his protection symbols and wards on the walls and back of the door, much as they had been in the hospital. He was in the process of drawing one near the room’s window when Sam entered.

John was going to freak out when he saw it.

“Hey Sammy,” his brother greeted, as if drawing symbols on the bedroom wall was a normal occurrence (and it probably was, to him, Sam reminded himself.) 

Sam couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling in his throat. The bewildered look on Dean’s face didn’t help, and he laughed harder. 

“What?” Dean glanced at the symbol he was drawing, then back at Sam, “Did I draw it wrong or something?” 

He shook his head, holding his ribs as he laughed, and gasped in amusement, “No, no. Looks good. Dad’s going to freak out when he sees these.” 

Dean’s brow furrowed and he glanced uneasily around the room; the look on his face cut Sam’s laughter short. “Nothing wrong with protecting yourself,” the man muttered, annoyance touching his features as he turned back to finish his symbol.

“No, Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam crossed to his brother, “I think they’re awesome. I really do. Maybe you could show me how to draw a few in my room.” His brother met his gaze and, seeing his sincerity, smiled a bit and nodded in agreement. 

Sam perched himself on the bed, watching as Dean finished his ward. “You sure you didn’t learn Latin in the hospital?”

The man shook his head, darkening a spot on the ward with his pencil, “Can’t remember learning it there. Just know it.”

“How is that even possible?” he mused, throwing himself back on his brother’s bed to stare at the ceiling. He grinned as the saw the Devil’s Trap drawn on the ceiling above the center of the room: yeah, John was definitely going to freak.

“How can you just know a language?” he rolled onto his stomach to watch Dean work, head resting on the pillow. It smelled like Dean: fresh shampoo and an underlying scent of something woodsy. He breathed it in almost unconsciously, eyes flicking to his brother again as Dean answered his question,

“Guess I’m just a genius, Sam.”  
“I guess you are,” he grinned, taking in the other symbols on the wall. 

Sam’s eyes shifted toward the open bedroom door as he heard footsteps approaching from down the hall. Several moments later, John stepped into view, hair still sleep-mussed and dressed in pajamas. The man halted in the doorway, blinked as he stared into the room. He shook his head, stepped back out of sight, stepped back into the doorway again. Checking to see if Dean’s artwork still decorated the walls, Sam guessed. He laughed as John rubbed a hand over his face, muttered, “Way too early for that,” and moved down the hall again, in the direction from wence he had come. 

Sam met Dean’s gaze and he found his brother smirking at him.  
Life was already far more interesting with Dean Winchester in the mix. 

 

“Did you know your neighbors are probably werecats?” 

It was day three of Dean’s arrival (which was going pretty well so far, if you asked Sam) and they were in the backyard. 

Sam blinked at the question and glanced toward the Henderson's house, which Dean was currently watching. Sitting on the house’s front porch was a large, orange tabby cat; it was staring in their direction. “I was not aware of that,” he said in response. He joined Dean at the backyard’s fence, “How do you know they’re werecats?”

“Saw that one change last night,” his brother answered, nodding toward the orange cat, “Looked out the bedroom window and saw a cat in the drive. Next thing you know, bam, cat was gone and a woman was going inside. So.. werecat, I’m guessing. Or familiar. Huh.”

Sam stared at the cat for several moments – it stared back, tail swishing – before turning his gaze to his brother. In spite of the calm expression on his face, Dean was tense: Sam could see it in the lines of the other’s shoulders and jaw. He studied his brother before turning his gaze to the cat again.

“I miss all the good stuff,” he grumbled finally, scuffing at the grass with the toe of his shoe, “She never changes when I can see her.” 

He felt his brother relax – Dean had expected him to ridicule him, he guessed – and the other turned green eyes to him. “You’re not like .. “ A pause, “.. everyone else, Sammy. You don’t –“ The other dropped his gaze for a moment, “You don’t tell me I’m crazy or delusional or something.”

Sam shrugged, watching as the cat on the neighbor’s porch leapt onto a small metal table, and then into the house through an open window. “Just because I can’t see what you see doesn’t mean it’s not possible,” he finally answered. He met his brother’s gaze, “I hadn’t ever seen angels, not before Castiel anyway, but still believed in them. So, you know.. anything’s possible.” 

He glanced at his brother again, and found Dean watching him, small smile on his lips. “Thanks,” the older boy said finally, “Even if you’re just humoring me, thanks. It’s – it’s nice to have someone listen without giving me _that_ look. Like the one John gives me when I talk about it.”

“He tries,” Sam turned so that his back was pressed against the fence and he could face Dean fully, “He’s – I don’t know.” He shrugged almost helplessly, “He’s our dad. He tries.”

“Your dad,” the other corrected quietly, eyes on the neighbor’s house again.  
“What?” Sam blinked in confusion, and Dean said,  
“He’s your dad, Sam. He stopped being my dad a long time ago.”

Sam bit his bottom lip at the soft-spoken but matter-of-fact words, brow furrowed. He reached out to grab Dean’s hand in his own, raised it to brush his lips across his knuckles, as he whispered, “Dean, I’m sorry.”

Dean swallowed hard, eyes riveted to his mouth as Sam pressed his lips against the other’s hand again. When Sam raised hazel eyes to meet the other’s gaze, lips pressed against his knuckles still, Dean uttered a breathless “fuck” and pulled his hand away.

“Dean?” Shit. Had he overwhelmed his brother with too much touching? Dean was still getting accustomed to it, after all.

“It’s – it’s fine, Sammy,” Dean brushed a hand through his short hair, voice cracking on his name, “Just -- just need a minute.” 

Sam studied his profile as Dean turned to look at the neighbor’s house again – he didn’t miss the sidelong glances his brother cast him every minute or so. He shot the other a soft smile and turned to stare at the house, as well.

When Dean’s arm slipped around his shoulders three minutes later, pulling him close, Sam’s heart skipped a beat before taking off on its own personal marathon. He closed his eyes as he felt fingers slipping up the back of his neck and into his hair to brush through it. He could get used to this.

And maybe, the logical part of his mind warned him, he could start to like it a little too much.

 

Sam spent the next few days showing Dean how to do things he had grown up learning to do. Everyday things which Dean hadn’t had the opportunity to learn in the hospital. He showed him how to load the dishwasher (and huffed out a laugh when Dean got the top rack stuck and muttered about the ‘demon machine’); he showed him how to work the DVD player; he showed him how to wash and dry laundry. His brother was a quick study: He would watch once and pick it up. 

He didn’t miss the fact that Dean was quiet around John, kept his eyes on the man when John was in his line of sight but never engaged him in conversation and typically spoke to him only when John spoke first. Sam could only imagine the strain between the two; how it had to bother his father and how Dean felt about the man, especially after his remark in the backyard that third day. He was optimistic, though, especially when John would make a comment which brought a smile to Dean’s face (rare as those were, thus far). It was only the first week, and he would continue to hope that the two would improve their relationship as time passed.

He was more relaxed around Bobby, but still fairly quiet. It was only with Sam that he would engage in full conversations, initiating them and answering Sam’s constant questions; smile and laugh and express himself. 

And if he was secretly pleased the morning he woke to find his brother sitting beside his bed like a guardian angel, writing in one of his notebooks, or watching him as he made them lunch.. well, he would keep that to himself.

 

“What am I going to do, Jess?”  
Sam flopped back in the front yard and stared up at the morning sky. It was the first Saturday after Dean’s arrival – his brother had been here for a whole week already – and Jess had come over early for their monthly “Pancake Day”, which they had been doing since they were 13. He had just finished telling her about the heart-beating-like-dubstep-and-cannons feelings he had been having the past few days, regarding his brother. 

So much for keeping it to himself.

“Calm down, dummy,” Jess told him as she seated herself next to him, “First, you haven’t seen this guy, before this summer, since you were a baby. He’s practically a stranger, even if he is your brother. Second, you sent me pictures of him. Who _wouldn’t_ think he was hot, okay? That big brain just hasn’t latched on to the fact that you’re related, that’s all.”

“So you think it will pass?” Sam picked a blade of grass and tossed it at her, “It’s going to be pretty awkward if my dad catches me staring at his butt or something.” 

Jessica snickered in amusement at the mental image he painted, which made Sam laugh, also. “The way I see it,” the blonde girl started, raising her head as they heard the house’s front door open, “is you – oh my god is that him?”

Sam raised his head to look toward the house, and saw his brother standing on the front step. “That’s him,” he confirmed. He flinched with an ‘ouch!’ as Jessica punched him in the shoulder and hissed, “Why didn’t you tell me he was so gorgeous?” 

“I sent you a damn picture!”  
He sat up and shot Jess an amused grin – she was practically gawking at Dean - then watched as Dean stepped into the yard and headed toward them.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean greeted as he reached them. His green gaze shifted to Jess; he shot her a charming smile as he asked, “Who’s your friend?” 

Sam wasn’t certain if he wanted to roll his eyes or sulk in jealousy. Instead, he introduced, “This is Jessica, my best friend. Jess, this is my brother Dean.”

“Hey Jessica,” Dean crouched down next to Sam, arms resting on his knee, and shot her another smile. 

“Hi,” Jessica blinked and seemed to snap out of her gawking state, “So you’re Dean? I’ve heard _a lot_ -“ she shot Sam a smirk “-about you. Nice to finally meet you! How do you like it here so far?”

“It’s different,” came the answer. Dean’s green eyes fell on Sam as he finished, “So far, so good, though.” 

The three looked over as someone strode up the sidewalk toward them. The teenager moved into the yard and in their direction; as he reached them, Sam’s other best friend, Gabriel, groused, “Really Sam? I thought we were done with the 7:30 am meet-ups when the STEM program ended. Though we were pushing pancake day back to 9 or something.” He raised a fist and punched Sam in the shoulder; three seconds later, he was on the ground with Dean on top of him.

“Dean!” 

Sam caught his brother’s arm before the young man could bring down the fist he had raised above Gabriel’s face. He pulled at his brother, drawing Dean’s attention to him.

“No, Dean, this is my other best friend! He was just playing!”

The older Winchester glanced back down at Gabriel, whom was staring up at him, wide-eyed in shock. He frowned and moved off the teenager; a moment later, he grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet. 

“Dean, this is Gabriel,” Sam ran a hand through his hair, “Gabe, my brother Dean.”

“Sorry,” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking sheepish, “Thought you were – sorry, man.” 

“No problem,” Gabriel gave him a nervous smile in return, “You were looking out for your brother. I get it.” 

“Well,” Jessica moved to Gabriel’s side and slipped an arm through his, “That was certainly a wake-up call this morning. Breakfast, anyone?” 

They were sitting in the Winchesters’ kitchen a short while later, eating the pancakes Jess and Sam had prepared. Dean was fidgeting with a fork lying on the table; he hadn’t touched his food and he spoke only when one of them spoke to him directly. He raised his eyes as Sam scooted his chair closer and asked,  
“You okay?”

“Yeah,” his eyes dropped back to the table for a moment. He raised his gaze again, this time focusing on Gabriel. “Sorry about earlier,” he said quietly when Gabe’s eyes met his, “Didn’t know you were Sam’s friend.” 

“Seriously dude,” Gabriel shot him a genuine smile, “It’s not a problem. My brothers were all gung-ho about looking out for me, before they went off to college. Still are when they’re in for visits. I get it.”  
Dean nodded, watching as Gabriel poured chocolate syrup all over his pancakes, topping that with chocolate chips and whipped cream.

The foursome glanced over as John entered the kitchen. “Pancake day already?” he asked mildly, heading for the pot of coffee which Sam had put on a bit earlier. 

“Want some?” Sam asked; he discreetly shoved Dean’s plate back in front of him before shovelling a bite of his own strawberries-and-whipped-cream covered concoction into his mouth. He shot his brother a pleased smile as Dean acquiesced and took a bite of his own food (plain pancakes for him, not yet being used to an overload of rich foods). 

“No thanks,” John poured himself a large mug of coffee, “Too early for that stuff you kids are calling pancakes.” He poured a second mug and told them, “Bobby and I will be out in the garage for a while. Doing okay, Dean?”

Dean raised eyes to him and stared at him for a second, before nodding yes. 

John tapped the door of a cabinet, eyes on Sam; the teen nodded in understanding before focusing on his food again. It was the cabinet where John kept Dean’s medication. The man bid them another ‘good morning’ and exited through the laundry room door, which led into the attached garage, mugs of coffee in hand.

After their pancake breakfast was finished and the mess cleaned up, Gabriel turned to Sam and asked, “Ready to get wiped out on COD?” “You wish,” Sam snorted in return, throwing a dish towel at him. Gabe turned to Dean and asked, “Want to join us in a little Call of Duty, Dean?”

“What’s Call of Duty?”

“You’re kidding, right?” the blond stared in amazement at Dean, whom merely raised a brow. “Right,” Gabe recalled, “Nuthou – er.. hospital.. for a million years. Got it. It’s an Xbox One game, involves guns and military and kicking Sam’s ass.”

He groaned, leading the way through the house toward the living room, as Dean asked, “What’s Xbox One?”

Sam was focused on killing Gabriel’s on-screen avatar a short while later, when Jess leaned in close and whispered, “Dean hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we came in here.” It distracted him and he glanced over at his brother, whom was sitting on the couch behind them: sure enough, Dean’s gaze was locked on him. Sam groaned, dropping his head in his hands, as Gabriel let out a victorious whoop and killed Sam on-screen. 

COD death was totally worth it when he heard his brother chuckling behind him – he loved to hear his brother laugh - and Dean teased him, “Way to go, Sammy.”


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a 'moment'; the boys do some more bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the inspiration to turn Dean's protection wards/sigils into art goes to wtgw. Thank you for the comment that inspired it! <3

“Dean,”  
John paused in the kitchen doorway. It was 2:13 in the morning, according to the red glowing numbers on the microwave, and Dean was rifling through a drawer. His oldest son raised his head when John spoke his name, gave him a once-over, before dismissing him and returning to his search of – John didn’t know.

And to think, he had come into the kitchen for a simple glass of water.

“Looking for something, Dean?”

“Silver.” The young man closed the drawer and opened the one beneath it to begin searching through it, “Don’t you have any silver in this damn place?”

John stared at him, brow furrowed in concern and confusion. His eyes fell on the kitchen table, and the small collection of items sitting on it: a box of salt; several boxes of matches and a lighter; a box of chalk; a two-foot, decorative iron sword which had been hanging on the living room wall last night.

“Why do you want silver?” he finally asked, turning his gaze back to the young man across the kitchen. 

“Protection.”

John ran a hand across his face and moved further into the kitchen.  
“Protection from what?”

Dean raised his eyes to him at that question, stared at him with a look that screamed ‘ _you have to ask?_ ’  
Yes, he did have to ask. He hadn’t any idea what his oldest would need protection from that involved silver.

Dean stared at him for a moment before telling him, “Anything with silver as a weakness, John.” His eyes returned to the drawer through which he was rifling; he shut it with a soft bang and jerked open a third. 

“Dean, have you been taking your medication?”  
“Not taking that poison you’re trying to feed me.”  
“We had a deal,” John sighed and moved to inspect the items on the table, eyes flicking to his son every few seconds, “You agreed to take your meds when I brought you home.”  
“Didn’t seal it with a kiss, so it doesn’t really count, does it?”

John stared, completely perplexed by the statement. He was even more perplexed when Dean raised his head suddenly and, glaring in the direction of the fridge, said,  
“Doesn’t matter what you used to do, because you don’t run the place anymore.”

“Where’s Sam?” John finally asked, watching as Dean pulled what appeared to be a small silver butter knife with a round-ended blade out of the back of the drawer. His son smiled triumphantly, then glanced at him and answered,  
“Sleeping. It’s 3 in the morning, John, where did you expect him to be?”

When Dean crossed to add the silver utensil to the pile on the table, John reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Dean – “ he started. He drew back, surprised, as the other jerked away from his touch and growled,  
“Don’t touch me.”

He watched, brows creased in more than a little concern, as Dean gathered the items up off the table. His son paused as John commanded, "Leave the sword."  
The young man hesitated but obeyed, leaving the decorative sword lying on the table. John watched as he carried the remaining items out of the kitchen, into the hall. Muttering a low curse beneath his breath, he followed his son into the hallway, in time to see Dean enter his bedroom. When he reached the bedroom door and peered inside, he saw the young man placing the items in the drawer of the bedside table. Dean finished what he was doing and turned to stare at John. After several moments, he sat down on his bed and scooted back against the wall. John heard him mumbling as he glanced toward the room's closet, before grabbing up a notebook and a pencil, eyes flicking back to John.

John exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain calm: he had been aware that he was wading into unfamiliar territory when he had signed Dean out of the hospital, and freaking out wasn't going to change that. He ran a hand through his dark hair before telling his son, "Goodnight, Dean. Get some sleep." The young man stared at him in silence, and John shook his head and headed back toward the kitchen.

He put the decorative sword in a cabinet above the stove, then spent the remainder of the night at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and thinking. 

 

Sam peered into his brother’s room the following morning, and found Dean sitting on the bed, writing in one of his notebooks. The man raised his head suddenly and, spotting him, smiled.  
“Sammy.”

“Hey Dean,” Sam crossed to the bed and sat down on its edge, bottle of water in hand, “Saw the protection symbols you drew on my door. Thanks.”  
The other nodded, eyes returning to his notebook, and muttered, “Gotta keep Sammy safe.”

“Dean.”

His brother raised his eyes again, met his hazel gaze. They fell to his hand as Sam stretched it out and opened it: several small pills laid in his palm. Dean frowned, glanced up at him again. 

“Take these for me?” 

His brother studied him for a moment; seconds later, he picked up the pills and popped them into his mouth. He snagged the water Sam offered him and drank several drinks. Sam couldn’t stop his smile as Dean opened his mouth and lifted his tongue, revealing that he had, indeed, swallowed his medication. 

“Thanks,” he stretched out on the bed beside Dean, making himself comfortable, “What’re you writing about?” 

“Rugaru,” Dean reached out to brush fingers down his arm briefly, before pulling away. His brother was constantly touching him: gentle brushes against his cheek, his arm, his hair. Sam wondered if Dean was checking to see if he was really there, not just a dream, in those moments. 

“What’s a rug- what was it called?” 

“Rugaru,” Dean repeated with a low chuckle, “They look human, usually until they’re older and their hunger overtakes them. Then they start craving meat. All kinds of it. Eventually, they start eating human flesh and their appearance transforms, shows you their true self.”

Sam wrinkled his nose at the mention of eating human flesh. “How do you stop them?”  
“Set ‘em on fire,” Dean answered, eyes falling to his notebook as he added a note. 

“Do they ever have families and stuff? When they’re human?” Sam asked curiously, reaching out to tug at a loose string on the bed covers.  
“Yeah, sometimes,” Dean frowned and laid down his pencil and notebook, “but once they taste flesh, they can’t stop themselves. Would kill their own families to have it.”

“That’s – kind of sad,” he raised his eyes to his brother, found Dean watching him.  
“Yeah,” the other agreed quietly, “I guess it is.”

“Still amazes me that you know so much about this stuff,” Sam patted the bed next to him and, after a moment, Dean scooted down to stretch out beside him. It was a close fit, the bed was only a full-size one, but Sam didn’t care. He liked to be close to his brother; something about Dean made him feel safe, in spite of the other man’s issues.

He raised a hand and brushed a finger against Dean’s cheek, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. The other’s eyes closed at his touch, opening several moments later to meet his gaze. “You need to start sleeping,” he commented, brushing his thumb beneath the other’s left eye, “You look tired.” 

“Sleep when I can,” Dean studied his face, “Better when I know you’re near.”  
“I’m just on the other side of that wall,” Sam reminded, pulling his hand away to drop it on his stomach.  
The other’s voice was almost a whisper as he replied, “I know. It helps, believe me.”

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking. “Dean.”  
“Hmm?”  
“Did you ever feel safe in the hospital?” he turned his head to look at his brother, and found Dean staring at the Devil’s Trap he had drawn on the ceiling. 

“No,” the other finally answered, “Not really.”

Sam frowned, biting at his bottom lip. Twelve years in a place where he never felt safe? How that must have affected his brother, Sam could only guess. How could anyone get better in a place where they didn’t feel safe, didn’t have anyone they felt safe with to help them through it? 

He reached over and caught his brother’s hand in his hand, entwining their fingers, and Dean lightly squeezed his hand.

The two glanced toward the open door as they heard footsteps in the hall. Moments later, Bobby appeared in the doorway. The man spotted them and greeted cheerfully, “Morning, boys. Breakfast is ready.” He disappeared then, heading down the hallway again. 

After breakfast, the brothers spent a couple of hours in the backyard. Most of that was spent leaning against the large tree in the corner of the yard, talking and watching clouds drift overhead, filling the sky. Dean still liked to hear Sam talk, and he didn’t seem to mind all the questions Sam asked. They went back inside, finally, when thunder rumbled in the distance and, several minutes later, it began to rain.

 

“So you can play music on your phone?” 

Sam laughed softly as Dean eyed the iphone in his hand. He nodded and powered on the small blue tooth speaker he had carried in from his own bedroom, then flipped through his phone apps to find the one labeled ‘music’. He chose a song and hit play, and several moments later, Nirvana poured from the small speaker. 

“Huh.” Dean’s eyes shifted to the speaker, “So that’s how the nurses did that.”

“What kind of music do you like?” Sam laid the phone aside and scooted back against the wall to make himself comfortable.

Dean shrugged a shoulder, before admitting, “Don’t really know. Heard a lot of classic rock, Led Zepplin and Eagles and such, on the ward. Lee liked ‘em and brought me a couple of CDs and a walkman to use, til it was confiscated for my behaviour. The nurses listened to all kinds of crap. Had a roommate when I was a kid who sang the Beatles all the time.” 

“You had a roommate?” Sam shifted to more fully face his brother, curious.  
Dean nodded, “When I was twelve or thirteen. For a couple days. We got in a fight so they moved him out. Only roommate I ever had.”

“Why did you get in a fight?”

“He wouldn’t stop singing ‘Yellow Submarine’ by the damn Beatles so I punched him in the mouth.” 

Sam huffed out a noise of surprised amusement, shaking his head. His brother shrugged, innocent look plastered on his face, and he rolled his eyes and shoved at Dean’s knee. 

The brothers turned their gazes toward the open door as a soft knock sounded on the doorframe. John was standing in the hallway, a brown paper bag in one arm. 

“Can I come in?”

Sam glanced at Dean, whom stared at John for a moment before nodding yes. Their father entered the room then and moved toward them. He paused next to the bed, his eyes surveying the wards and sigils Dean had drawn on the walls. His blue gaze flicked to Dean then, whom raised his chin slightly, an odd combination of uncertainty and defiance touching his features.

“Here,” John said suddenly, holding out the bag toward Dean, “Got you something.”  
Dean hesitated, glanced at Sam, who shot him an encouraging smile. He reached out and took the offered bag and placed it on the bed between him and Sam.

Sam watched as his brother glanced at John again, before pulling out the contents of the bag: several four-packs of thin, 10x10 and 12x12 canvases, several packs of colored pencils and charcoal pencils, and a small wooden case of oil paints and paintbrushes. 

Dean raised his eyes to John, curiosity on his face, and their father shot him a hesitant smile. “Thought maybe you could – “ John motioned toward the wards and sigils adorning the walls, “- I don’t know, turn them into art. We could frame them or something when you were finished, if you wanted.”

Dean blinked at the man before dropping his gaze to the case of oil paints he still held. He raised it to John again and asked, voice almost a whisper, “Really?”  
The man nodded, and Dean swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the paints and canvases again. 

“You – you would be okay with them hanging up?” 

“Well, yeah,” John shot him a smile, gaze shifting to the drawings on the wall above the bed, “You do a good job on these, and they’re important to you. Wouldn’t mind having one or two hanging in the living room, even.”

Dean nodded, eyes on their father again, and cleared his throat. “That – that means a lot,” he said quietly, “Thank you.” 

John smiled again; he turned and headed for the door then, calling over his shoulder, “Lunch will be ready soon.”

Sam watched as Dean brushed his fingertips over a package of the canvases. His heart ached for his brother as the other raised his head to look at him and asked, “Did he mean that?” The uncertainty and hope on Dean’s face made him want to cling to his brother and hold him tight and protect him from the rest of the world. 

He voiced an affirmation, “Yeah, he did,” and Dean sniffed and nodded, eyes on the art supplies John had given him. 

Sam reached out to brush his fingers his fingers through Dean’s hair; his brother leaned into his touch, eyes closing and a soft sigh escaping him. 

 

When Sam entered the kitchen a short while later, John was leaning back against the counter and Bobby was sitting at the table. “Lunch is ready,” his father informed him, “Where’s Dean?”

Sam crossed to him and slipped his arms around the man’s waist, hugging him tight. “Thanks,” he laid his head against John’s chest as his father returned the hug, “for doing that for Dean. That was so awesome. That meant a lot to him, dad. Thanks.” He raised his head and shot the man a smile, “He’s drawing on ‘em right now.”

His dad ruffled his hair and repeated his earlier statement, “They’re important to him, and he’s important to me. If they make him feel safe, I can live with that.”


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams, conversations, and Dean's first trip out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure I'm happy with the last bit of this chapter (the trip out part). Might rewrite it later, but for now i'm just sort of going where it takes me.

He was in that place between consciousness and sleep when he heard a soft tap at his door. Sam opened his eyes and glanced over as the door opened slowly; he squinted against the light that shone in from the hallway. After a moment of adjusting, his eyes fell on his brother. Dean was standing just outside the doorway, holding onto its frame. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam sat up in his bed and reached over to flip on a small, bedside lamp. He blinked against the light again, watching as Dean stepped into his room. His brother hesitated for a moment before crossing the carpeted floor to stand next to his bed. 

“Dean?”

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” the question was barely audible as Dean raised a shaking hand toward him, “Not dreaming you, am I, Sammy?”

“No,” he shook his head, reached up to clasp his brother’s hand and tug him down on the bed’s edge, “You’re not dreaming. I’m really here.” He frowned as he saw the cuts on Dean’s bottom lip, the blood that smeared it. He raised a hand and laid it against Dean’s face – his brother leaned into his touch – and chided gently, “Told you to stop biting yourself.” 

“’m sorry,” Dean’s apology was a whisper, “Was scared that – He tells me I’m not really here, I’m in the hospital and this is a dream. That you’re not really here.”

“Who tells you?” Sam wiped at the blood on the other’s mouth with the pad of his thumb, “Lucifer?”  
He received a nod in response, and he shook his head, “He’s lying to you. You’re really here.” He let his hand slip to the back of the other’s neck and pulled him forward a bit, resting his forehead against Dean’s, “You’re really home.”

“Get scared sometimes, Sammy,” the older teen confessed in a whisper. Sam could feel him shaking, and he stroked his fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. His brother swallowed hard and continued, “Don’t know what’s real and what’s not, sometimes. Don’t even know if I’m real sometimes.” 

“You’re real,” Sam whispered back, “I’m real. I’m right here with you.”

“Dreamed I kept losing y-you,” there was a catch in Dean’s voice, “And I did everything to get you back, everything. Went to hell. Fought demons and death to get you back. But still kept losing you.” The man’s fingers wrapped around his upper arms, holding tight, “It wasn’t enough, anything I did. They kept taking you away from me. Can’t l-lose you again, Sammy. I can’t.” 

“You’re not,” Sam vowed, pressing his lips against Dean’s forehead, “I’m right here, Dean. You’re not gonna lose me again. I promise. I’m not going to let you be alone anymore.”

His brother raised a hand to touch his cheek, fingers ghosting over his skin, before exhaling a sharp breath. Sam caught his hand in his own and raised it to his lips to press them against the back of it. He scooted over in the bed, making more room, and instructed gently,  
“C’mon, you can sleep in here.”

Dean hesitated for a moment before stretching out on the bed next to him. Sam adjusted the blankets to cover them both before lying down next to him. He laid on his side facing Dean and pressed close to the other, sliding an arm around his waist and resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. The man next to him relaxed then, wrapping arms around him. After several minutes, Dean’s shaking stopped; several minutes later, his breathing evened out. Sam raised his head to check on him and found that his brother was asleep.

 

When Sam next woke, it was to sunlight streaming in through his window and arms wrapped around him. He lay still, processing the arms holding him and the leg entwined with his own: Oh, right. Dean. He ran a hand over his face, trying to wake himself, and raised his head to glance at his clock: The red numbers read 8:33 a.m. His eyes shifted next to his brother’s face: Dean was awake and watching him. 

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, reaching to drag the blanket over his face, “Wake me when it’s noon.” He felt the firm chest beneath his cheek shaking slightly – Dean was laughing quietly at him – and uncovered his face to glare at the other. He was about to speak when realization struck him: his leg was draped over Dean’s, pressing a certain area of his body against the man’s thigh. And, being a teenager and it being morning, he was half-hard.

He felt his cheeks burning as he tried to shift subtly away from the other without making it too obvious. Dean’s arms tightened briefly around him when he started to pull away, and Sam raised his eyes to look at the other. His flush increased, he was fairly certain, as he saw the way his brother was watching him. When Dean licked his lips, Sam’s body reacted even as his brain screamed a string of curses. He cleared his throat and rolled away from his brother, pulling out of the other’s arms and untangling their legs.

“So, uh,” Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, “Yeah. Wake me up at noon.” He threw himself on his other side, facing the wall, and dragged the blanket over his head again, trying to hide his flushed face. 

Sam felt fingers brush up the line of his back moments later, and a shiver ran through him. He didn’t dare roll over as he felt his brother shifting behind him: he bit his bottom lip as he felt warm breath against the side of his neck. Dean was motionless for a moment, pressed in close to him, before asking,  
“You really wanna sleep til noon?”

He couldn’t help it: he burst into laughter. The tension left his body and he rolled onto his back to look at the other. Dean was giving him a puzzled look, and he laughed again.

“You dork.”  
“What?” Dean raised his brows, “You _don’t_ want to sleep til noon?”  
That made Sam laugh again as he climbed out of the bed, and over his brother in the process, to stand next to it. “No,” he finally answered with a grin, “I don’t want to sleep until noon.” 

“You’re a little indecisive, Sammy.”

 

Sam sauntered into the kitchen a short while later, while Dean was in the shower (with the bathroom door closed). His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” he greeted the man as he crossed to the fridge to pull out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon, “Want breakfast?”

“Sure,” John answered, eyes on the paper, “Saw Dean in your bed this morning.”

Sam nearly dropped the egg carton, so unexpected and random was the statement. He placed it safely on the counter and laid the bacon next to the stove as he replied, “Yeah. He got scared last night so I had him lay down with me.”

“Scared?”  
John’s eyes shifted from the paper, to him, and he nodded yes as he said,  
“Bad dreams.”

“Hmm,” his father frowned, eyes returning to the paper, “I imagine this is all very unsettling for him.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly, recalling the fear in Dean’s eyes the previous night, when the young man had voiced the question _’are you really here?’_. 

Dean and Bobby joined them at the table a short while later. Sam shot his brother a smirk and tugged his still-wet hair as he passed behind him to take the chair next to him. His brother glanced down at his hand as he rested it on the table’s surface, palm up: he opened it to reveal the other’s medication. 

Sam saw the frown which started to touch Dean’s features, so he gave him what his father referred to as his ‘puppy dog’ look. The older teen stared at him for a moment before smiling and shaking his head; he picked up the pills, though, and popped them in his mouth, washing them down with a drink of orange juice. 

“Thanks,” he leaned in to whisper to the other as he reached for his own juice. If his father and uncle heard the murmured response of, “Anything for you, Sammy,” they kept it to themselves. 

 

They were almost finished with breakfast when John told them, “Me and Bobby are going into town after breakfast. Thought maybe you boys would want to tag along.” 

Sam looked to his brother and said, “Up to you, Dean. Feel up to it?”  
“Sure,” the young man shrugged a shoulder, eyes meeting his briefly before returning to his plate, “Whatever you want.”  
Sam glanced at John and Bobby as they stood and took their plates to the sink, talking amongst themselves. His looked to Dean again, who met his gaze. He could see the tension in the other’s shoulders, and knew his brother was nervous about going some place new. He was still adjusting to being here, at home.

“We don’t have to go,” he reminded, “Or we can stay in the car if we get there and you’re not okay with it.” His eyes narrowed slightly as his brother muttered, “Can’t change your whole lifestyle for me, Sammy,” and he responded, “Don’t bet on that.” His brother blinked at him in surprise, and Sam shot him a grin. 

 

They were climbing out of the Impala a little over an hour later, in front of Open Harvest, a local grocery store. John figured the bigger markets would be too overwhelming for Dean’s first trip and, as Sam stood beside the car, waiting for his brother, he reasoned it was a good call. Dean stared out at the building, the people moving through the parking lot and along the front sidewalk. Finally, he raised green eyes to Sam, whom shot him an encouraging smile. The young man climbed out of the car, moving aside so Sam could close the door; Sam didn’t miss that Dean pressed himself against the car while he waited.

“Okay?” he asked softly, laying a hand on Dean’s forearm. The other nodded yes but made no move to step away from the car as John and Bobby headed for the store’s entrance. 

Sam studied his brother for a moment; he tugged his brother’s shirt and reminded, “Stop that,” as Dean bit at his bottom lip. His brother started, shot him a guilty smile, then told him, “Okay. I’m – I’m okay.” 

Sam nodded and turned for the store’s entrance, eyes flicking to Dean every few seconds. He was leading the way inside when several teens about Sam’s age ran past them, pushing shopping carts and giggling as they raced each other to the door. Dean flinched away, startled, as one of the girls brushed against him and called back over her shoulder, “Sorry, cutie!” 

Sam glanced at his brother as Dean moved closer to him: he could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off the other. They made their way through the automatic doors, into the market, and Dean halted. Sam turned to look at him and found the young man staring wide-eyed around the store, which was bustling with people. He stepped back to his brother and reached for his hand to entwine their fingers: Dean relaxed slightly at the contact and focused on him. 

They made their way through stands of produce and aisles of goods, and found John and Bobby in the coffee aisle. “Figures,” Sam smirked upon seeing them.  
“Hush, boy,” Bobby placed a container of ground coffee in the cart, “You’ll appreciate good coffee one day, when you’re finally off your baby bottle.”  
“You’re funny,” Sam shot back, moving around the cart and tugging Dean behind him, “Hear that, Dean? The old man is hilarious.”  
Sam and Bobby both smirked as John raised his eyes from the package of coffee beans he was reading to warn, “Don’t make me send you two back out to the car.” 

“Alright there, Dean?” Bobby asked his nephew, “If you see anything you want, toss it in.” He and John moved down the aisle, searching for something else on the list John was holding.  
Dean nodded at Bobby’s words as he assessed his surroundings; Sam glanced over as the other’s grip on his hand tightened slightly. The teenage girls from earlier were moving up the aisle toward them, talking to one another. They glanced at the brothers and giggled: as they passed by, one of them told Sam, “You two are an adorable couple!” Sam stared after her, flush touching his cheeks: he was holding Dean’s hand, so the girls thought -- His eyes shifted to his brother, whom was smirking at him. 

“We are pretty adorable, Sammy.”  
“Oh my god,” Sam groaned with a laugh and shot down the aisle, practically dragging Dean with him.

Overall, the trip was fairly uneventful. Sam was mentally thanking the higher powers for that when they exited the store ahead of John and Bobby, and ran into a crowd of people in the parking lot. One of the local high schools had set up a bake sale during the hour they were inside the store. 

The brothers’ both spotted the high school mascot – a white tiger – at the same moment. Sam shook his head upon spotting it, feeling sorry for the person wearing the costume: it was hot out already, this morning. He was jerked to a sudden halt, Dean’s grip on his hand tightening, as his brother stopped abruptly.

“Tell me you see that,” the other muttered, staring at the tiger mascot. 

“What?” Sam glanced from Dean, to the tiger, to Dean again, and realization dawned on him. “Oh, yeah. That’s some guy wearing the mascot costume for my high school.” He chuckled as Dean exhaled in relief and confessed, “Thought I was seeing things for a minute.” 

Their eyes shifted to the left as they heard,  
“Sam Winchester. Why am I not surprised to see you holding hands with another guy?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as they fell on Gordon Walker, a classmate at his school and a regular asshole. He was flanked by two of his friends. He chose to ignore Gordon’s comments and led Dean toward the Impala: their progress was halted as the jock stepped in front of them.

“You Winchester’s boyfriend?” Gordon asked Dean, as if he had a right to know their business.

“I’m his brother,” Dean’s voice was low, gravelly – Sam caught the warning lacing the tone, though it seemed to go right over Gordon’s head. 

“Bullshit,” Gordon shot back, “He doesn’t have a brother.”

“He does now,” Dean growled, moving a step forward: he was positioning himself between Sam and Gordon, Sam realized. 

“Gordon,” one of the other boys caught the look on Dean’s face, “maybe you should leave it alone.”

“Good idea,” Sam told the boy in front of him, “Piss off.”

Gordon shot Sam a sneer, “You’re lucky we’re in public. I’m going to stomp your ass into the ground next time I –“ 

The threat wasn’t even finished before Dean had Gordon pinned against the side of the building, face pressed against the brick.

“Let go of me, you son of a –“ Gordon’s demand was cut off with a whoosh of air as Dean pressed an arm against his back, holding him more firmly in place.

“Dean!” Sam heard John call; he glanced over and saw his father running in their direction. His eyes shifted back to Dean. The look on his brother’s face, a combination of dangerous and protective, was intriguing (and perhaps a little hot, his brain supplied helpfully), and Sam couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“Listen up, you fucking ghoul. You touch Sammy and I’ll break every single bone in your body,” Dean growled, shoving Gordon hard against the stone as the other struggled in his grip, “Then I’ll break them all a second time. We clear?”

Something in Dean’s voice caused Gordon to drop his bravado and quickly agree, “Yes! We’re clear!”

Dean released him and stepped back, just as John and Bobby reached them. John took hold of Dean’s arm; the young man jerked free of his grip and moved to stand next to Sam again, scowl on his face. 

Sam met John’s gaze, saw the panic that was still in his father’s eyes. He caught Dean’s hand in his own and guided him through the people whom had stopped to watch the interaction, to the Impala. 

The brothers were in the backseat when John and Bobby climbed into the car. John turned in the driver’s seat to look at his oldest son. “You can’t just attack people like that, Dean!”

“Didn’t attack him,” Dean muttered, staring out the window, “Gave him a warning.”

“You don’t just shove people’s faces into buildings. That’s not how things are done!”

“He was threatening Sammy,” Dean met his father’s gaze, anger in his green eyes, “I don’t care how things are done, no one’s hurting Sam.” 

John stared at Dean for a moment – the young man was staring out the window again – then turned his gaze to Sam. Sam nodded, confirming Dean’s statement about the threat, and his father sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

His father had just pulled out of the parking lot, onto the road, when Sam felt Dean’s fingers brushing against his on the leather seat. He looked over and found his brother staring at him: the uncertainty on Dean’s face had him reaching for his brother’s hand and scooting closer to rest his head against Dean’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” he whispered, “for looking out for me.”  
“Did I overreact?” Dean asked quietly, voice pitched low so only Sam could hear him. Sam shrugged and answered honestly, “I don’t think you did but dad might. But I would have done the same if someone threatened you.”  
“My badass little brother,” the other murmured, thumb brushing over Sam’s knuckles. The smile Dean gave him had Sam’s heart doing those weird backflips again. “I’ll do it again if anyone else threatens you like that, Sammy.”  
He tried to ignore the sensation as he joked, “Ferris Bueller, you’re my hero.”  
Dean snorted out a laugh - it was a movie reference he knew – and teased,  
“Bitch.”  
“Jerk.”


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day in the life. & Dean & Lucifer have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some POV changes in this one. Sam, to Dean, back to Sam.

“These look great, Dean.”  
Sam reached out to touch one of the canvases on which Dean had drawn protection symbols, and brushed his fingertips over the surface.  
“These actually make some pretty kick-ass art.”

His brother flushed slightly at the compliment, pleased smile touching his mouth. He kept his eyes on the canvas he was hanging as he shrugged and said, “I guess they’re okay.” 

Sam raised his eyes to the symbols-turned-art, which now hung above the bed. Dean had scrubbed his drawings off the paint with soapy water and magic erasers at some point in the middle of the night, save for those on the back of the door and the Devil’s Trap on the ceiling, and now a row of canvases hung in their place. 

It looked pretty awesome. 

His eyes shifted to Dean as the other finished hanging the last one and climbed off the bed to stand next to him again. His saw his brother’s gaze move to some point near the closet, saw his brow furrow after a moment.

“They don’t keep him away, huh?” Sam asked softly, in reference to Lucifer, as he motioned to the canvases.  
“No,” Dean muttered after a moment, “They don’t seem to have any effect on him.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to the corner again; several moments later, he reached out to brush his fingers along Sam’s shoulder, his face troubled. Sam remained motionless, allowing his brother to ascertain that he was, indeed, real. Those searching fingers slipped to the back of his neck, soft touches which elicited a shiver from him. It was when Dean’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, that Sam exhaled sharply, full-body shudder running through him. 

“Sam?” Dean’s eyes returned to him, burning with concern, “Did I hurt you? ‘m sorry..” 

“You didn’t,” he shook his head, “It’s - I actually kinda liked that.” What he had just confessed dawned on him as Dean tilted his head, studying him.  
“Yeah?” his brother murmured, and the sound of that low-pitched, rough voice lit up every nerve in Sam’s body. Sam’s eyes widened and he tried to backtrack with a stammer, “I didn’t mean it like – That’s not – I –“ 

Realizing that he was failing in covering up his slip, he chose the next best course of action: he blurted out, “I gotta hit the head,” and fled the room. 

When he had locked himself in the bathroom, Sam jerked his cell phone out of his pocket and sent out a quick text to Jessica: _I was three seconds from pouncing D just now. Wtf. Help!_

He received a response fifteen seconds later: _On my way. Don’t panic. Want to video if you’re pouncing._

Sam groaned and banged his head against the bathroom door. Leave it to his best friend to be completely amused and not-helpful about the situation. 

 

“These are cool,” Gabriel was standing in front of two pictures hanging on the living room wall. They were two of the canvases on which Dean had painted protection sigils, at John’s request (something which had caused Dean to fall silent for a while, lost in thought); John had hung them on the wall earlier that morning.

“Dean painted them,” Sam informed as he joined his friend.

“Really?” Gabe glanced over at Dean, whom was leaning against the living room doorframe, watching them, “They’re pretty good. They Japanese or something?” 

“Or something,” his brother agreed, glancing at the paintings and then back to them. 

Gabriel gave Sam a look, then asked, “Well, what do they mean?”

“Protection.”

“Yeah? Cool. From what?” 

“Your mom,” Sam supplied with a smirk when his brother hesitated.  
Gabriel snorted a laugh and told him, “I need some for my house, then. Did I tell you she threatened to ground me over that prank we pulled on Gordon the last week of school?”

The three of them glanced toward the front door, startled, as they heard a knock. Sam glanced at Dean as he saw his brother move as if reaching for something on his belt that wasn’t there. He raised a brow at the gesture as his eyes met Dean’s, and Dean shrugged and shot him a slight smile. 

Sam’s attention was pulled from his brother as the front door opened and Jessica entered. 

“Hi guys!” the blonde greeted cheerfully. She moved to Dean, whom was closest to her, and threw her arms around him in a hug. Even from where he stood, Sam could see the man tense up at her touch; after a moment, he politely and somewhat awkwardly patted her on the back. She let him go and shot him a grin, before crossing to hug Sam.

“Had to do that,” the girl hugged him to whisper near his ear, “Oh my gosh, so worth it. I hope you hug him every chance you get!”

“Shut up,” he mumbled with a laugh, face burning, “You’re a jerk.”

“I am,” Jess agreed with a smirk, “Ooh, I like the new art..”

 

Sam was sitting on the couch with Jess and Gabe a short while later – Dean was sitting on the floor at his feet, back pressed against his leg. Jess was playing on her cell phone and Sam and Gabe were discussing soccer strategies – both boys were on their high school soccer team. Sam was almost absently brushing his fingers through Dean’s short hair; his brother’s head was resting back against his knee, and Dean’s eyes were closed. 

“You asleep?”  
Dean’s eyes blinked open at Sam’s teasing question; he tugged his older brother’s hair before lightly scratching his nails against his scalp. The older teen sighed softly and answered Sam’s question,  
“Almost.”

He raised his eyes and found Jessica staring at him, a knowing smirk on her mouth. He could feel his cheeks heat from embarrassment – that seemed to be happening a lot lately – and he muttered, “Shut up, Jess.” 

They looked over as Bobby entered the living room. The man’s eyes searched the room for a moment, before locating Dean, sitting on the floor.  
“Hey Dean,” he called to his nephew, “We’re fixing to give the Impala a tune-up. Your dad thought maybe you would want to help.” 

Dean’s face lit up and he started to rise, but hesitated. His eyes flicked to Sam, who shot him a warm smile. He bit his lip as he started, “You’ll - ?” 

“I’ll be here when you’re finished,” Sam promised. Dean shot him a quick grin before standing and joining Bobby. 

“Another car lover, huh?” Gabe asked him. Sam chuckled and agreed, “Apparently. Dad shouldn’t even be beneath the hood of a car, so it’s a good thing Bobby’s here.”

“I remember the last time he tried to tune it up on his own,” Jess giggled from her spot at the end of the couch, “and had to call someone to come fix it so it would start again.”

“He’s definitely a better professor than mechanic. Maybe Dean will have Bobby’s aptitude for it and not dad’s.” 

“Okay, so. Let’s talk about this crush of yours.”

Sam flushed, yet again, at Jessica’s gleeful demand. He ran a hand through his hair as he gave her a mock glare and accused, “You sound pretty amused by it.”

“Oh, I am,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Wait,” Gabriel glanced from Sam, to Jess, to Sam again, “Who are you crushing on?”

Sam looked away, face burning – he hadn’t directly mentioned to Gabe his recently-realized crush on Dean. His hazel gaze flew to the blond as Gabe continued, 

“Your brother, you mean? Yeah, that’s probably gonna be awkward.”

“How did you - ?”

Gabe rolled his eyes, “I’ve known you most of our lives, stupid. I’ve seen you when you had crushes on people and you look at Dean the same way. Only a little sappier, actually. Plus Jess told me already.” He widened his eyes and pitched his voice a bit higher as he teased, “Oh, Dean, you’re such a great mechanic, can I feel your strong, strong arms?”

“Shut up!” Sam punched his friend in the arm as the other two laughed; red was going to be the permanent color of his face, at this point. “It’s – it’s weird, right?”

“Might be if you and him were raised together,” Gabe leaned down to reach into a backpack he had brought over with him. When he raised back up, he had candy bars in his hands, which he offered to them. Sam shook his head, Jess accepted one, and Gabe opened his own, before continuing, “You weren’t raised together though so, like Jessie said, your brain’s not on board with the ‘you have a brother’ thing. When it realizes that, you’ll be good.”

Sam shook his head, “If I told anyone but you two that I felt like that about –“ His gaze shifted toward the direction Dean had gone several minutes earlier, “-about him, they would freak and say I’m gross. You two are weird.”

“You are gross,” Gabe told him, biting into his chocolate, “but that’s nothing new. Your brother’s kinda hot though. If my brothers looked like him I would be crushing, too.”

“Your brothers are hot,” Jess told him, “especially Michael. He’s gorgeous.” 

“Uh, yuck. Get over your insane crush on Michael. He’s like a thousand years old. Besides, I grew up with them,” Gabe feigned gagging, “so they don’t qualify as hot.”

They laughed as Sam stood and headed for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I cannot have this conversation with you two any longer!”

When Dean joined them again two hours later, a streak of oil on his cheek and up one arm, he immediately crossed to Sam and wrapped the teen in a hug, burying his face against Sam’s neck. Sam laughed softly at the now-familiar greeting, rubbing a hand up and down Dean’s back. His gaze shifted to his friends, who were sitting at the kitchen table and smirking at him. They stifled their laughter when he flipped them off, and he rolled his eyes at Gabe’s ‘kissy-faces’. 

Sam grinned as Dean mumbled against his neck, but still loud enough for the other two to hear him, “Your friends are weird, Sam.”

 

He was lying in bed that night when he heard the muffled sound of his brother’s voice through the wall. Sam looked over at the wall that separated their bedrooms and listened for a moment: he couldn’t make out the words, but he could hear Dean speaking.

Sam sat up in his bed as he caught the word _No_ , and heard the change in Dean’s tone. Even through the wall, his brother sounded angry. He hesitated for only a moment before slipping out of his bed.

When he cracked open Dean’s door a minute later and peered inside, Sam saw his brother pacing the width of his room. The young man was muttering almost beneath his breath, his gaze flicking every few seconds to the room’s far corner. 

 

Dean glanced at Lucifer again – the blond was leaning against the closet door, watching him with a smirk on his face.  
_I don’t know why you’re so upset with me. I’m just trying to help you out._  
“You’re not,” he shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, “You’re just messing with my head. I’m not in the hospital anymore.”  
He cringed as Lucifer laughed,  
_You think **this** is reality? This home and this family? It's part of a delusion, an elaborate dream. Your mind is making it up to make you feel better. Don’t think that when you snap out of it, you won’t see white walls and your jerk of a psychiatrist staring at you._  
“No! _This_ is real. Sammy says it’s real and I trust him.”  
_Sammy says. He’s not really here either, Dean. It’s all your imagination. You're crazy, remember? I mean, only a crazy person feels for his baby brother as you feel for yours. You think that’s even close to normal?_.  
“Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up.” He hugged himself as he paced, running his short nails down his arms in his agitated state and leaving long, red scratches in their wake.

Dean turned, startled, as a hand brushed his arm; he had a clenched fist half-raised when he heard his brother’s voice, “Dean?”, saw his hazel eyes. He lowered his fist and whispered Sam’s name, just before he grabbed his brother and pulled him close.

 

Sam heard his brother breathe his name and, a moment later, found himself wrapped in Dean’s arms. His brother pressed his face against his neck and asked, voice muffled, “You’re here. Sammy, you’re here, aren’t you?”

“I’m here,” he assured the other, hugging Dean tight and running fingers through his hair, “Right here, Dean.” The other nodded against his neck, and Sam stroked a hand up and down his back. “He telling you you’re still in the hospital again?”  
Dean nodded yes, clutching hold of his t-shirt, but didn’t raise his head.  
“S’okay,” Sam kissed the top of the other’s head, “’m right here. You wanna come lay in my room with me?”  
“Can’t,” he barely heard his brother’s voice, muffled and quiet as it was, “Can’t leave the room after lights out.”  
“You can here, Dean. You can leave your room anytime you want. Not at the hospital anymore.”

Dean was silent for a moment: Sam heard the desperation in the other’s voice as his brother finally raised his head slightly to tell him, “It’s too much, Sammy.”

“What’s too much?”

“This – this _freedom_ ,” Dean pressed his face against Sam’s neck again, “It – I don’t know how –“ 

“Ssh,” Sam soothed, rubbing the other’s back again, “It’s okay.”  
He felt Dean’s lips press against his neck, warm breath and soft, chaste kisses against his skin. A way to comfort and ground himself. Sam continued rubbing his back; it was when his brother’s lips grew a bit more exploratory, slow drag of lips against his flesh, that he reluctantly pulled back. 

Sam cleared his throat, fighting down both his blush and his libido. As much as he wanted to follow _that_ path to its completion and beyond (and man, did he; damn teenage hormones), he wasn’t about to do anything that might constitute taking advantage of his brother’s upset state. He took hold of Dean’s left arm and examined the scratches the other had made minutes ago; a frown touched his lips, and Dean averted his eyes. 

The other watched as he crossed to flip off the bedroom light. He made his way back to Dean, using the light from the hallway, which was shining in through the open door. 

“C’mon,” Sam caught his brother’s hand and led him to the bed; he climbed on first, scooting close to the wall, and motioned for Dean to join him. The other did so immediately, settling in beside him, and Sam opened an arm. He couldn’t stop his chuckle as Dean scooted closer, into his arms, with no hesitation. Dean laid his head against his shoulder, arm draped over his waist; Sam heard the soft sigh leave the young man as some of the tension left him. 

“I’m sorry.” The whispered apology had Sam turning his eyes to his brother. He found the other’s green gaze on him as he asked,  
“For what?”  
“Being like this.”  
Sam’s brow furrowed slightly and he countered, “Don’t gotta apologize for that, Dean. Not ever. I love you just the way you are.”  
His brother gave him a sudden, warm smile at his words and shifted closer, “Love you too, Sammy.”

“Try to get some sleep,” he murmured, running his hand over Dean’s back. The other nodded and, Sam’s t-shirt bunched in his fingers, closed his eyes. Sam smiled at him, leaned in to drop a soft kiss on his forehead, and did the same.


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, paranoia.  
> Dean's struggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like a bit of angst in the past few chapters, yeah? (Especially, probably, this one). Trying to make this realistic (well, you know, given the characters involved & all), and I know from experience (being bipolar & whatnot) that angst/paranoia/etc. sometimes arises when your brain, your thought processes, and your fears are fighting against you.
> 
> If it seems too much, mention it, yeah? For now, though, this is the direction it's taking me. 
> 
> Also, (uber mild/short) makeout session in here some place. yay. Ssh, tis a start. :D

John had just flipped on the coffee pot when he heard someone enter the kitchen. He turned and found his oldest son standing across the room.

“Morning, De-“ he began; he was cut off as Dean demanded suddenly,

“Where is he?” 

John raised his brows, watched as Dean stalked in his direction, and asked, “Who? Sam?”

“Where’s Sammy, John?” anger laced the young man’s voice, etched his features: John stumbled back against the counter as Dean stepped into his space suddenly and shoved him, “You can’t take him from me again!”

“Dean, calm down!” He straightened, fought back his own anger, as his son moved in again. Dean was tall and, while he had the potential to be built, was still slim and lacked the muscle mass he might one day possess. John had a few inches on him, still, and at least 20 pounds; he used it to his advantage, bracing himself as Dean shoved at his chest again.

“You give me my Sammy!” 

“Sam’s fine, Dean! He’s with Bobby!” When the agitated young man came at him again, he sidestepped and caught hold of his arm, shoving Dean forward and pinning him against the counter. He used a hand, placed in the center of Dean’s back, to shove his chest down against the counter-top; he didn’t want to restrain him but he wasn’t about to let Dean attack him, either. “Just calm the hell down!” 

“Let go of me, you bastard!” Dean struggled against his hold but John caught one of his arms and pulled it behind his back to hold him more firmly in place, “Won’t let you take him away from me again!”

“Dean, listen to me,” there was a plea in his voice as he tried to reason with his oldest, “Sam is with Bobby. He’ll be back soon. Noone took him from you.”

“You did,” the sob that escaped Dean’s throat, the pain in his voice, drew John up short, “My whole fucking life, you kept him from me. Don’t you take him away again. Don’t you dare.”

John glanced over his shoulder as he heard the door open in the utility room, which led out to the attached garage, and voices carried to him. Moments later, Sam and Bobby entered the kitchen. They froze upon seeing him, pinning Dean against the counter; John shot Bobby a helpless look, and Bobby moved toward him.

“Dad? Dean?” 

Dean stopped struggling, went completely still, as he heard Sam’s voice. “Sammy?” the name was a plea from Dean’s lips, hurt and fear tracing it, and John released him and stepped back. Dean straightened, turned to face them, – John cursed silently as he saw the tears slipping down Dean’s face - eyes finding Sam immediately. 

“Dean,” Sam moved toward his brother, and Dean met him halfway. John watched as the older boy grabbed the younger, pulled him in close and buried his face against his neck. “Sammy,” the word was a sob against Sam’s skin, “Sammy Sammy Sammy.” 

“What’sa matter? Dean, what is it?” Sam hugged his distraught brother tight, crooned softly near his ear, “I’m right here. I’m right here, Dean. I’ve got you.” 

John tore his eyes from his sons to look at Bobby as the other man asked quietly, “You okay, John?” He shook his head, rubbed a hand over his face, before motioning to the two boys standing in the center of the kitchen, hugging one another. “How can I be?” he asked finally, tears in his own eyes, as he glanced back at them. Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and John sighed and shook his head. 

“I knew this wouldn’t be easy but – damn, Bobby, most of the time I don’t know what to do, where Dean’s concerned. He won’t take his meds for me, he’ll only take them for Sam. He won’t talk to me. He can’t stand the sight of me and that’s my own fault, but he can’t stand to have Sam out of his sight, either. What am I supposed to do about that?”

“Sam keeps him grounded,” Bobby supplied quietly, leading John further away from the two boys, “He told me this morning that Dean hears something, or someone maybe, that tells him he’s still in the hospital and none of this is real.” John rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth as Bobby finished, “Sam’s the only person he trusts right now, and I’m guessing he’s latching onto him even harder because of that.”

“So what do I do?” John’s eyes shifted to his sons again, “My 15 year old should not have to carry that responsibility. He should not have to take on the role of caretaker.” 

“Be that as it may,” the other man answered truthfully, “He might be the only one who can right now.” 

They watched the boys in silence for a minute: Sam was murmuring to Dean, soft words only the older boy could hear, and rubbing his back, while Dean clung to him like a lifeline.

Bobby sighed, eyes on the brothers, “Just – hell, John, I don’t know. Just ride it out, I guess. Wait for the dust to settle and him to get used to being home. He was in those places for a long time. It’s gonna take some time.”

John nodded stiffly and moved to the counter and the coffee pot there: he needed a healthy dose of coffee before dealing with anything else. He raised his eyes as Bobby joined him. The other man accepted the cup he offered as he told him,

“I can stay longer if you need me to stay.”

John gave him a weak smile, “Can’t ask you to drop everything for us, Bobby, tempting as that might be. You have your own life to live.” He couldn’t help his chuckle as Bobby scoffed and retorted,

“Hell, ain’t like I’ve got any concrete plans for the next couple weeks. Go home, work on cars, rinse and repeat. Sioux Falls will survive without me for another week or so.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” John’s gratitude was in his voice, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you being here right now.” 

His eyes met Sam’s, and his youngest son nodded toward the living room. John hesitated for a brief moment before nodding in agreement. He watched as Sam pulled away from Dean and took the older boy’s hand in his own, then led him out of the kitchen. 

 

Sam pulled Dean down on the couch next to him, frowning slightly as he saw the droplets of blood smeared along the other’s bottom lip; Dean had bitten himself again in his agitation. He wiped them away with a thumb, and his brother whispered, “Sorry.” He tugged Dean close, and the other leaned against him, face pressed against his shoulder. He slid an arm around the older boy, hugging him in closer, as Dean muttered against his shoulder,  
“He’s gonna make me go back. Gonna take you away from me again. Can’t lose you again.”

“Dean, no,” Sam stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair, “You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anyplace. I promise. And neither are you. You’re staying right here with me.”

“John thinks I’m crazy,” Dean raised his eyes, wet with tears again, to look at him, “He doesn’t understand. Shouldn’t have –“ his voice broke momentarily, “Shouldn’t have went at him but I was scared. He thinks I’m crazy and – and dangerous, I can see it in his eyes. And he thinks I’m going to hurt you. Wouldn’t do that, Sammy. I wouldn’t hurt you, not ever, not for anything. Not you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he pressed his lips to Dean’s forehead, and his brother exhaled a shakey breath, “I trust you, Dean. I know I’m safe with you.” 

His heart broke a little as Dean sobbed and whispered, “Don’t wanna go back there. I’m alone there, I – I don’t want to be alone again–“

“Ssh,” Sam pulled the other against his chest, allowed Dean to shift into his now-customary position, face pressed against Sam’s neck and arms around him, “You’re not going back, Dean. I won’t let anyone send you back there. I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

He held his brother close, hand stroking his head and down his back in a calming manner; eventually, Dean’s shaking subsided. Sam smiled against the other’s hair as Dean whispered, “Feel safe with you, too. Never had that before.”

“You’ve got it now, Dean,” the teen murmured, “You’re mine and I’m never going to give you up.”

Dean was silent for a moment: Sam huffed out a surprised laugh as his brother followed his statement with,  
“You gonna start singing Rick Astley?”

“Hush, you,” he warned as he tugged the other’s hair, “or I might.”

Sam raised his eyes a minute later and spotted his father standing just inside the living room, watching them. He shot the man a smile as he tightened his hold on Dean: all jokes aside, he was serious in his promise. He didn’t intend to let anyone take his brother from him now.

 

Sam was sitting on his bed a while later, eyes on Dean, whom was staring out the bedroom window. The young man had become agitated again upon seeing John, so Sam had pulled him up off the couch and brought him in here. 

It bothered him that his brother was still struggling so much with his new-found freedom from the hospital. It was expected, he knew enough to know that: Dean had spent a lifetime in those places. He had spent his life in small rooms with locked doors, under the constant watch of nurses and orderlies and psychiatrists. Being told when and what to eat, when to sleep, how to act and where he could and couldn’t go, what he could and couldn’t say.. It was going to take time for him to adjust completely. Still – seeing his brother hurting made him hurt, as well. 

He stood as his brother began chewing on a thumbnail, eyes shifting to a seemingly empty spot next to him. Sam wasn’t about to allow Lucifer to upset him again, not if he could help it. 

Dean glanced over his shoulder as Sam reached him. “Hi,” he greeted the young man with a smile, sliding his arms around the other, his chest against Dean’s back. He had shot up several more inches over the past couple of months, and was as tall as his older sibling now. “You okay?”

Dean nodded, leaning back into his embrace, “Am now.” 

Sam rested his chin on the other’s shoulder and they stared out the window in silence for a minute.

“Ever feel like – “Dean hesitated, searching for words. Before Sam could ask him to finish, they heard a soft knock on the doorframe.

The brothers glanced over at the door, to find John standing just outside it. Sam ignored the odd look his father gave them at seeing him holding Dean as he was, and greeted, “Hey dad. What’s up?”

“Wanted to check on you boys,” John told him, crossing into the room, “Make sure you’re both okay.” His blue gaze shifted to Dean, whom was chewing his thumbnail again, eyes averted. 

“We’re okay,” Sam supplied the answer.

“Dean?”

Dean raised his eyes to John, stared at him for a moment before nodding yes. “Sorry,” his voice was low, uncertain, as he apologized to the man, “for – for shoving you.”

John nodded, “I would appreciate if that didn’t happen again, but thank you for the apology. I’m not here to hurt you, Dean.” The man frowned in thought for a moment before adding, “Or to keep you and Sam apart.”

The young man nodded, hand clutching hold of Sam’s arm, which was wrapped around his waist still. He raised his eyes to John again as the man continued,

“Maybe I made a mistake in keeping you two apart for as long as I did. I’m sorry for that. I was just trying to keep you – and Sam – safe. I thought – I didn’t think you would be in the hospital for as long as you were, when I made those decisions.”

Sam hugged his brother closer as he felt Dean tremble, and his brother muttered, “Wouldn’t hurt Sam. Wouldn’t ever.” The other shifted, turning in his arms to press his face against Sam’s neck, effectively ending the conversation with John. 

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He nodded as Sam assured, “We’re okay, dad,” and turned to leave the room. 

“He doesn’t want me here,” Dean’s soft-spoken words sent a spike of pain straight through Sam’s heart, and he kissed the top of his brother’s head and hugged him tight. 

“He does, you guys just have to get used to each other.”

Dean shook his head without lifting it, and Sam pressed another kiss against his hair.

 

Evening found them in the backyard. Dean was leaning up against the large tree in the yard’s corner, writing in one of his notebooks, and Sam was lying on his back next to him, staring up at the branches above them. Bobby and John had run to town a short while ago for groceries (and more coffee, Bobby had grumbled, lots of coffee) and takeout. John’s reluctance to leave them alone had been a little obvious, but Bobby had slapped a hand against his back, told him ‘the boys will be fine, Sam’s got this. I am dying for some thai food here, let’s go’ and practically pushed him out the door.

“Still writing about rugrats?” Sam asked, reaching over to tug at the leg of Dean’s jeans. His brother laughed and corrected, “Rugaru. And no.” 

“What are you writing about?” 

Green eyes fell on him and color touched Dean’s cheeks suddenly, causing Sam to raise a brow. “About this annoying kid who brought me home from the hospital with him,” the other mumbled.

“You’re writing about me?” Sam grinned and sat up, shifting to his knees, “Can I read it?”

“No,” Dean shot him a smirk as he flipped the notebook shut, then laid it on the ground on his other side, out of Sam’s reach, “Piss off.” 

Sam leaned over him as if to reach for it, but Dean caught hold of him and pulled him back. He fell against the other’s chest with a laugh, and Dean chuckled, warm breath ghosting against his ear. Sam shivered at the sensation, raised his eyes to meet Dean’s. His brother’s smirk had been replaced by a softer smile as the other studied his face. 

Sam yelped in surprise as the older teen shifted him suddenly; he blinked as he found himself pinned to the ground with Dean straddling him, a mischevious smirk on his mouth. 

“Jerk,” he laughed, “Didn’t want to read your lame poetry or whatever anyway.”  
“Might let you read it later,” Dean countered, voice low and rough, smirk still in place “if you’re a good boy.”  
Sam’s laugh turned into a choked-off moan at the words and the husky sound of Dean’s voice, and his brother’s hands tightened around his wrists. 

“Dean..”

“What, Sammy?” his brother leaned in close to breathe the words against his ear, and a shudder wracked Sam’s entire body.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his entire body reacting to the other; he barely even realized it when he arched against his brother, “Dean, please..”

“Hmm?” lips grazed his ear, and Sam moaned; he tried to raise his hands to grab his brother, pull him closer, but Dean had him firmly pinned. Lips brushed the spot just below his ear, and Dean murmured, “What is it, little brother?” 

He knew there was a reason this shouldn’t happen (at least not in the backyard), but his thoughts were scattered, focused only on Dean’s scent, the feel of the other pressing against him, that husky, deep voice. He was hard, aching for more, and it felt _so_ good to have Dean on top of him, pressing him against the ground and holding him in place.

Dean’s eyes shifted toward the fence, and Sam started slightly, as they heard a car door slam next door, followed by voices. He almost whined in protest – or maybe he did, he wasn’t even certain at this point – as Dean rolled off him suddenly and pushed himself to his feet. Strong hands caught his and pulled him up, to his feet; Sam groaned and dropped his head against his brother’s shoulder as Dean leaned in to brush lips against his ear again and whisper, “Later.”

He adjusted himself as Dean leaned down to pick up his notebook, and fought the urge to tackle the other back to the ground. 

Shit. He had a feeling his “innocent crush” had just sailed right into “what the hell are you doing?” territory. As Dean caught his hand and led him back toward the house, Sam figured he might be okay with that.

They entered the kitchen and halted as they saw Gabriel, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face.

“Hey Gabe,” Sam greeted, moving to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, “When did you get here?” 

“Few minutes ago,” his friend replied; Sam eyed him as Gabriel’s smirk widened into a full-blown grin, “We were supposed to go online to look at coach’s soccer schedule, remember? Practice starts up again next week. So what was all that in the backyard just now?” 

“Wrestling,” Dean lied smoothly, shoving his hands in his pockets.  
Gabriel’s brows shot up as he remarked, “Didn’t look like wrestling.” He snorted a laugh at the older Winchester’s answer:  
“That’s because Sam sucks at it.”

Gabriel turned to look at Sam, grin back in place, and Sam rolled his eyes, even as he felt his cheeks flame with color. “Come on,” he muttered, heading for the kitchen’s exit, “Soccer schedule, remember?” 

Gabriel was about to follow when Dean stepped in front of him suddenly. The smaller blond blinked as he found a hand on his chest, pressing him back against the fridge. 

“You’re always pushing me around,” Gabriel grumbled, even as he fidgeted in apparent nervousness, “Only reason I haven't hit you yet is because you're Sam's brother. And okay, because you would probably stomp me into the ground if I did. Why don’t you ever push Jess around like this? She’s Sam’s friend, too!”

“Because she’s human.”

Gabriel’s brows knitted again and he scoffed, “And I’m not? Then what am I?”

“Still figuring that out,” Dean studied him, dropping his hand away from the smaller teen’s chest, “I have my suspicions. If you cause my brother any harm, I will gut you, just so we’re clear.” 

“Sam’s my best friend,” Gabriel countered, “I wouldn’t ever do anything anything to hurt him. And that includes telling anyone about your _wrestling_ match in the backyard. Except Jess, of course. She’ll kick my ass if I don’t tell her.”

Dean stared at him for a moment – Gabe shifted uneasily under the intense scrutiny, but met Dean’s green gaze as he repeated, “I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt Sam either, Dean. You can trust me on that.” 

Dean seemed satisified with his answer and with whatever he saw in Gabriel’s face, because he nodded and stepped away from the teen. “Sorry,” he muttered after a moment, “Sammy’s important to me.”

“Obviously,” Gabriel mused, studying him. 

The two looked over as Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Where did you guys go?” the younger Winchester asked.

“Getting a drink,” Gabriel answered, giving him a smile, “Let’s go. What are you waiting on? Soccer schedules await! Oh man, I’ve got a great prank to play on coach this year, too.” 

Sam watched as his friend swept out of the room, humming something beneath his breath. His eyes shifted back to Dean and he asked, “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean graced him with a warm smile that may or may not have created butterflies in Sam’s stomach, “It’s all good."


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another trip out, which is almost completely successful (until it isn't); & John's frustration gets the better of him.

Sam stared at his father with a scowl two days later, taking in what he had just been told.

“I don’t need clothes,” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest, “I have clothes.”

John snorted and, eyes dropping to Sam’s worn jeans with their frayed cuffs and holes in the knees and legs, countered, “Really? Well, Dean needs more clothes.”

“No Dean doesn’t,” his brother muttered behind him, drawing an exasperated glare from John and a smirk from Sam.

“Yes, Dean does. Yours are about to fall apart. We’re going shopping. You go back to school in two weeks, Sam, and you’re not going in looking like you split your time living between a car and cheap motel rooms.” 

“I like my clothes. They’re comfortable!”

“Every summer,” John shook his head as he spoke to Bobby, “Every summer we go through this.” His eyes shifted back to his sons and he instructed, “Go get in the car. Now.”

Sam shot him another glare but obeyed; Dean cast John a confused glance and followed after him. 

“I remember you did the same thing when you were Sam’s age,” Bobby told him with a smirk. John threw the man a mock glare and warned, “Don’t tell Sam that. I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

 

Sam had never found shopping of any type to be particularly interesting, before Dean. Now, however, he could barely keep the amusement off his face as his brother stared at John and questioned,   
“Why do I have to try them on? In that little box?” A motion toward the fitting room, “You’re kidding, right? Why is this lady standing here staring at me?”

“He’s from out of town,” was Bobby’s poor explanation of Dean’s unfamiliarity with the entire fiasco.

“I’m here to assist you,” the clothing department associate informed Dean, trying to keep her own amusement off her face and not quite succeeding.

“I don’t need assistance,” Dean shot her a glare, “I can dress myself.”

Her failure to stifle her giggle set Sam and Bobby off, as well: Dean scowled at them, and John shook his head and rubbed a hand across his face to hide his own smile.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized to his brother, voice breathless from laughter, “Sorry. We’re not laughing at you, Dean.”

“I’m pretty sure you are, Sam.” His brother threw a pair of jeans at him – they hit Sam in the chest and he caught them - and stormed off in the opposite direction. He hadn’t gone more than twenty feet when he hesitated, gaze shifting around the retail store; he turned and moved back to Sam’s side, frown touching his lips.

“Dean,” Sam reached out to lay his hand on the other’s arm, “Really, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. C’mon, I’ll try mine on in the room right next to yours. It’s to see if they fit correctly, that’s all.” 

His brother’s glance shifted to the woman standing nearby, and Sam added quickly, “And she’s not here to help you get dressed, she’s just here for if you need a different size or something.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to a man standing behind a register halfway across the men’s department. “Don’t like this place,” he muttered, voice pitched low so only Sam caught the words. 

“Me either,” he agreed, “So let’s try these on so we can get out of here as soon as possible.” 

Fifteen minutes and three pairs of jeans later, and Dean was obviously done. The young man seated himself on a bench beside the fitting rooms, arms crossed over his chest and knee bouncing. It was the uneasy look on his face that had John telling the associate whom was standing nearby to assist them,

“Just bag them all up, we’ll bring back what doesn’t fit.”

As John moved toward the register, an armload of clothing in hand, Bobby moved to join the brothers. 

Sam grinned at his uncle as Bobby sat down next to Dean and joked, “I see Dean gets his love of shopping from me.”

 

Lunch was the next step in their trip, as the John, Bobby and Dean had skipped breakfast and Sam had eaten only a bowl of cereal. 

They had been seated for a short while, drinks delivered and orders taken, when Sam noticed his brother glancing around the restaurant. He nudged Dean’s knee with his own beneath the booth table, and Dean shot him an uneasy smile. 

“Something wrong, Dean?” 

The older brother’s eyes flicked to John at their father’s question, and he stared at the man for a moment. “No,” he said finally; it was the only response John received. 

Sam caught his brother’s hand, which was tapping restlessly against his thigh, beneath the table. Dean’s green gaze shifted to and focused on him, and the other relaxed visibly. 

“Look,” Bobby commented from across the table as he picked up a small dessert menu, “They have three different types of pie.” 

Both boys exchanged a glance, both recalling their first dine-out experience on the way home from Dean’s hospital, and the pie on that trip. Dean’s eyes dropped to Sam’s mouth and he licked his own lips; Sam had to look away to avoid embarrassing himself as his brother’s eyes met his again, heat in the green gaze. When he cast a sidelong glance at Dean, the young man was smirking at him. He outright grinned as Sam glowered and kicked him beneath the table, prompting a “Behave, Sam,” from John. 

The entire meal was torment. Watching Dean lick his mouth free of salt or ketchup, lick his fingers, wrap his lips around his straw. Sam was ready to melt on the spot, or tackle his brother to the ground, or maybe crawl beneath the table and –

“Alright there, Sammy?” 

The smirk on Dean’s mouth let him know that his brother knew precisely what was going on in his head and, for the second time since sitting down to eat, Sam gave him a light kick under the table. He turned his attention to his food and steadfastly ignored his brother.. right up until Dean took his next bite and slid his tongue out to lick the ketchup from his lips. 

Son of a –   
He wasn’t going to be able to stand, at this rate. 

He forced his eyes on his father and Bobby, whom were sitting across from them and discussing – Sam hadn’t any idea what they were discussing. He had been too distracted. 

When they had finished their meal and were on the way out to the car, Sam glanced at Dean as his brother fell into step beside him. “You are such a tease,” he hissed, glancing back to make certain his dad and Bobby weren’t in earshot. His brother shot him a grin and dropped an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam. I’m new to all this.” 

Yes, his brother was definitely a tease. 

They were about to climb into the backseat of the Impala when Dean froze, eyes focused on something across the street. Sam heard him mutter darkly,   
“The hell is he doing here?”   
He turned to look, saw people passing on the sidewalk across the street, but noone that stood out to him.  
“Who?” his hazel gaze returned to Dean.  
“Doctor Murphy,” Dean’s voice was practically a growl, and Sam’s eyes shifted back to the spot where Dean was staring. He peered up and down the street, but saw no sign of the man.  
“I don’t see him,” he admitted.   
His brother frowned and glanced back across the street, “He’s gone now, but he was there.”  
“Are you sure it was him?” Sam asked softly, “Maybe it was someone who looked like him.”  
Dean was silent for a moment, assessing the area, before agreeing, “Maybe.”

Their last stop was at a college bookstore on the campus of the University of Nebraska, where John taught. John and Bobby went into the bookstore so John could check on the order of books for his upcoming Mythology class, and Sam and Dean seated themselves outside the coffee shop next door. 

“Want something?” Sam motioned to the coffee shop’s entrance; his brother declined with a shake of his head. He glanced over as he heard someone call, 

“Little Sam Winchester! Is that you?” 

A man about their father’s age had just exited the coffee shop; he approached their table, cup of coffee in hand. 

“Hey Professor Franklin,” Sam greeted the man, “How are you?”   
“Good, good. Where’s your dad? Bookstore?”  
Sam nodded, and the professor raised his cup in farewell and turned toward the bookstore. 

His eyes shifted to Dean as the other asked suddenly, “So you’re going back to school in a couple weeks?”   
Sam nodded in affirmation, “Yeah, week after next. School until 3, soccer practice almost everyday until 5. I’ll be home by 5:30 or 6:00, though.” He reached over and brushed his fingers against Dean’s cheek, sliding them down to tug his bottom lip free of his teeth, which were worrying it. He brushed his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip, swallowing hard as his brother kissed the tip of it.

“I’m going to come home to you every day, Dean,” he promised softly, seeing the worry on Dean’s face. His brother nodded and murmured, “I’ll just – just stay in my room til you’re home.”

“Dean, you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to stay in your room.”  
“Not sure what else to do with myself.”  
“Anything you want,” he told his brother. He frowned as Dean shot him a bit of a smile and said,  
“I don’t think John is going to want me roaming around his house on my own.”

Before he could argue Dean’s statement, he heard his uncle’s voice as Bobby and John exited the bookstore next door. His eyes shifted to them as the two men approached the table. 

“Look at you two,” Bobby teased, “pretending to be all social.” He raised his cell phone and snapped a picture of the two – he had become fond of taking pictures since Sam had shown him how to use his smartphone’s camera two summers ago. “Not too bad.” He flipped the phone around to show Sam and Dean the picture; Sam glanced over as he heard his brother muttered beneath his breath. 

Dean was staring at the picture, eyes narrowed: he turned suddenly to look at the coffee shop employee whom was cleaning off a table behind them. Sam followed his gaze, then glanced back at the picture, puzzled. It looked fine: he and Dean, and the employee in the background, whom had looked up just as Bobby had taken the picture. The angle of the phone and reflecting sunlight had given the coffee shop employee’s eyes an odd, mirrored look, but it wasn’t anything Sam hadn’t seen happen in pictures before.

His eyes shifted to Dean, who was staring at the shop’s employee. The young man caught Dean’s gaze and, after a moment’s hesitation, approached to ask, “Did you guys want to place an order?” 

The server reached into his apron pocket to pull out a small paper drink menu, which he started to hand to Sam. Both Sam and the server jerked in surprise as Dean’s hand shot across Sam to grab the young man’s wrist.

“Don’t touch my brother,” Dean growled, shoving the man’s hand away. 

“Dean!” John reprimanded, surprise and embarrassment tracing his voice and his features. 

Sam blinked up at his brother as Dean shoved his chair back and stood, then moved to place himself between Sam and the server. “Stay away from my brother,” he repeated, the warning in his voice causing the server’s eyes to go wide. 

“Dean, what -?” Sam started.   
His brother turned his head slightly at the sound of his voice, but kept his eyes on the shop employee, and muttered, “Shapeshifter.” 

“I’ll – uh – “ the employee took several steps back, wide-eyes locked on Dean, “I’ll just give you time to decide, then?” He turned and quickly made his way back into the shop.

“What the hell, Dean?” John demanded.

Dean shot the man a glance but remained silent, eyes shifting back to the shop, where the employee had disappeared.

“That’s it,” John raked his hand through his hair, shoulders tense and anger tracing his features, “Go get in the car, Sam. Dean, you need to go apologize to that boy.” 

Dean stared at him but still said nothing. When John repeated his name, he shifted his gaze away.

It was when John dropped a hand on Dean’s arm that the young man reacted. Their father hadn’t even the chance to speak when he jerked away as if John’s touch burned him and growled,   
“Don’t touch me.” 

“Go get in the car,” John’s instruction left little room for argument, at least in Sam’s view. He stood and murmured, “Dean..” and his brother’s eyes shifted immediately to him. “Let’s go to the car.” 

The older teen nodded – Sam saw a muscle in John’s jaw twitch at that – and followed him toward the Impala. Sam glanced back over his shoulder and saw his father enter the coffee shop, presumably to apologize to its employee.

They were sitting in the backseat when John and Bobby climbed into the car several minutes later.

“Do you want to explain what that was about?” John asked, turning in the seat to stare at Dean. 

Dean’s simple reply of ‘No’ had the man’s jaw clenching. “You can not do that to people, Dean. It’s not acceptable.” 

“If he had touched Sam, he could take on Sam’s appearance,” Dean explained calmly, eyes focused on something outside the car, “and his thoughts. _That’s_ not acceptable. Can’t let that happen.” 

“You think that – that kid in the coffee shop is a _monster_?” That muscle in John’s jaw twitched again.

“It’s right there in Bobby’s picture, John.”

John turned his gaze to Bobby, then righted himself in the seat to start the car. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face before shifting the car in reverse.

“’m not crazy,” Sam heard Dean mutter, “Not about this.”   
If John heard him, the man gave no indication.

 

When they walked into the house a short while later, John turned to Dean and told him, “You need to go to your room for a while. I am upset at your behavior and – just go to your room, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he glanced at Sam. Sam bit his bottom lip, saw the anger in his father’s features, and nodded. 

Both boys jumped slightly as John exploded, “Stop deferring to Sam every time I speak to you! He’s not your father!”

Dean’s voice was ice as the young man countered quietly, “Neither are you.”

John fell silent, drawn up short by the words, and watched as Dean headed out of the living room. 

Sam stared at his father, brows drawn together in a frown, as the man glanced at him. John shook his head and told him as he moved toward the kitchen, “Oh, no. Don’t you look at me like that, Sam. He cannot react to every single person who crosses your path like he did today.”

Sam followed the man into the kitchen as he asked, “What if he’s right? Maybe not about all of it, but about some of it?” 

John turned incredulous eyes on him at the question, “Right? About monsters existing? Your brother is – he’s delusional, Sam!”

“There are plenty of things out there that people don’t understand,” he defended, fist clenching at John’s use of the word ‘delusional’, “and are still discovering. You teach a class about it!”

“Yes, a class about folklore and faerie tales! Shapeshifters? Monsters? Please tell me you’re pulling my chain,” his father shoved a hand through his hair, “Please tell me that nonsense is not rubbing off on you. I know you want to help your brother, but Dean is schizophrenic. Engaging in the fantasy of those beliefs with him will not help him!”

“And shutting him in a hospital for twelve years did?” he shot back, suddenly angry, “Treating him like a complete nutcase did?”

“That’s enough, Sam.”

The teen blew out a frustrated breath, “He thinks you don’t want him here. Is he right?”

“What?” John frowned at the question, “No. Of course I want him here. I just don’t want him attacking random people every time he leaves the house!” 

“Then maybe you should tell him that, dad.”

John leaned against the counter – Sam could see the tension in the man’s shoulders and back. “Easier said than done, when he won’t speak to me and ignores everything I say to him.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam moved to lean against the counter next to his father, “He’s just – he doesn’t feel safe, dad. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react to people, especially when he’s scared. I’m teaching him but I can’t do it overnight.” 

“He should know better,” John muttered. The man closed his eyes the moment the words left his lips – it was apparent he regretted immediately even speaking them. That did little to cool down the anger that flared in Sam like a fire, however.

“Should he?” he shoved away from the counter, “Really, dad? Should he?”

“Sam –“ 

Sam stormed from the kitchen and made his way down the hall, toward his bedroom.

 

Bobby was sitting on the front step when John walked outside a few minutes later. His brother scooted over, making room for him, and seated himself next to the other man.

“Well, now they’re both pissed at me,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “Am I wrong, to react like I did?”

Bobby was silent for a moment, choosing his words, “You’re trying to teach appropriate behavior to a kid who don’t understand it because to him, he’s doing the right thing. I’m not sure there is a right answer here, John. This might be one of those things you just have to roll with, and work it out as you go along.”

John nodded, pondering the words. He glanced over as Bobby dropped his gaze to the cell phone in his hand and asked, “Wonder what he saw that made him freak out like that?” The man was studying to picture he had taken of Sam and Dean at the coffee shop.

John leaned over to look, but couldn’t see the answer, either. “Only thing that even looks remotely off is that coffee shop kid’s eyes, where the light’s reflecting. Maybe that tattoo on his arm was a trigger or something. Hell if I know.” 

 

Sam halted in front of Dean’s door when he reached it and knocked softly. 

Dean was sitting on the bed when he entered, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around his knees. He crossed and sat on the edge of the bed, studying his brother. 

“Don’t understand, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was quiet, “I just – I was trying to protect you.”

“I know, Dean,” he crawled across the bed to sit next to his brother, pressing their shoulders together. 

“He got mad last time I did that,” Dean told him, “when we were little. I was trying to protect you then, too, and he put me in a nuthouse for kids. And he never came for me like he said he would, and he never let me see you after that.”

The hurt and sadness in Dean’s voice had Sam trying to swallow past the lump that was suddenly in his throat. 

“I can’t let anything hurt you,” his brother continued, eyes on the far wall, “Even if he puts me back in there, I can’t let you get hurt.” Green eyes shifted to him as Dean asked, voice a whisper, “Do you think I’m crazy too, Sam?”

“No,” he whispered back, leaning in to rest his head against Dean’s, “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dean. You just see things different from other people.”

“This is too hard, Sammy. I can’t – “

“Ssh,” Sam shushed his brother by pressing his lips against Dean’s cheek, “Don’t, Dean. Don’t say it.” He planted soft kisses along the other’s cheek, on his eyelids, the tip of his nose, “I’m gonna help you get through this, okay?” He brushed his brother’s mouth with his own, a barely-there graze of lips, “I’m going to be right beside you.” Sam brushed their lips together again, raising his hand to cup Dean’s cheek as his brother let out a shuddering sigh against his mouth. 

Sam continued his gentle onslaught of soft, nearly-chaste kisses, moving from Dean’s mouth, along his jawline, down his throat. By the time he pressed a kiss against the pulse-point in Dean’s neck, his brother had calmed down considerably, breathing evened out and eyes half closed. 

Temptation was too strong, and Sam trailed his tongue up the side of Dean’s throat to the spot just below his ear. A soft growl of pleasure rumbled from the older teen’s chest, and Dean warned, “Keep that up, and you’re going to find yourself on your back, with me on top of you.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam breathed, scraping his teeth along Dean’s earlobe and drawing another pleasured growl in return. It was with a great deal of reluctance that he pulled back, a sigh escaping him. “It would be pretty awkward if dad walked in on us, though.”

“A little,” Dean agreed with a smirk; he reached down to adjust himself, and Sam groaned and lightly banged the back of his head on the wall he was sitting against.  
He needed a distraction, or he was going to tackle his brother, regardless of whether his father was in the house. “Let me read one of your journals,” he requested. His brother rolled over to reach between the mattress and the box-springs; when he sat back up, he had several notebooks in his grip. He offered them to Sam, whom took them and flipped open the first one.

The distraction worked, he realized a while later. His attention was focused on his brother’s writing, and few things killed an erection faster than reading about creatures which ripped off people’s skin or gorged themselves on brains or hearts.


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't sleep, neither can Sam. Smut ensues.  
> Dean & John have a chat and John comes to a realization or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of smut in this chapter.

He completed the pattern of warding sigils on the window sill and stepped back to inspect his work. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment in contemplation, before leaning in to add another sigil. When that was finished, Dean nodded to himself in satisfaction.

It was 2:30 in the morning, and he couldn’t sleep. Again. He had tried – Sam liked it when he slept, so he had tried – but the dreams had shaken him out of it shortly after falling into slumber. 

Nightmares, really. Dark places, lined with red and pain and fear. Reaching and reaching but never quite grasping the edge of whatever doorway would take him to freedom. Things with black eyes and sharp teeth and too much blood every place. Searing agony and lost thoughts and loss, so much loss, until suddenly it was all drowned in white and quiet. And then thoughts of Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam. Finding Sam.

Dean had jerked out of sleep with a start, his brother’s name on his lips and his body shaking. Something in his head screamed that sleep was a luxery he could barely afford, even as something else told him that was irrational. 

He brushed his fingers over the wards he had just finished before turning and moving toward the bed. His eyes shifted toward the closet and the tall blond standing there, watching him, arms crossed over his chest and smirk on his face. 

_They’ll find a way in eventually, you know. Your Doctor Murphy did._  
“Only because he avoided the devil’s trap and took my markers before I could draw more,” Dean muttered, moving to the desk to look at the picture Sam had given him earlier that evening, a copy of the one he had in his own room: the two of them together when they were young, Sam still a baby. A smile touched his lips as he brushed his fingertips over the image of baby Sam. Even if he hadn’t been able to see him for a span of almost his entire life, his brother had been his constant, his hope in cages of white walls and hallucinations and voices only he could hear.

_What are you going to do when you wake up and find yourself in your hospital room, hmm?_

“Don’t know,” Dean muttered, rubbing his hands over his arms; he barely felt the slight, stinging pain as he dug in nails into his skin and ran them down the lengths of his arms, leaving long, red scratches. “It’s not a dream. It’s not. I’m not there anymore.”

He moved to the bed and sat down on it; he bit at his bottom lip, lost in his thoughts, before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to do that anymore. He stopped and raised a hand to his mouth instead to chew on a thumbnail. Dean frowned as he realized his hands were shaking and he dropped them to his lap, clasping them between his knees. 

“It’s not a dream. I’m really here.” 

 

In his own bedroom, Sam woke suddenly, breathing rapid and thoughts panicked. He sat up in his bed, looked around the room: after a moment, he realized his surroundings and exhaled in relief. His dreams had been full of things in the dark, things which had grabbed his brother and dragged him into the shadows where Sam couldn’t reach him.

He rubbed a hand over his face before climbing out of bed. He padded across the floor, bare feet making little noise on the carpet, and left his room.

 

Dean was lying in his bed, arms behind his head and eyes on the ceiling, when Sam entered. He glanced in his brother’s direction, watched as he crossed to stand next to the bed.

“Shove over,” Sam muttered, pushing at his shoulder. Dean obliged and scooted closer to the wall, and Sam crawled into the bed and stretched out beside him. The younger teen shifted closer, pressing against his side, an arm sliding over his waist and head on his chest.

“Sammy?” he rubbed a hand down the other’s back as he felt his brother trembling.

“Bad dream,” the other murmured, “’m okay.” Sam turned his head slightly to press soft kisses against his chest and repeated, “I’m okay.”

Dean’s eyes slipped closed and he bit his lip as Sam’s mouth brushed over his nipple through the thin cotton of his shirt. He shivered, pleasure shooting through him, as his brother did it a second time: this time Sam’s lips closed around his nipple, and the other began to suck lightly through his shirt.

“Sam,” Dean breathed; a shudder wracked his body as the other bit down gently and tugged with his teeth. Hazel eyes raised to look at him as his brother sucked on the sensitive nub, and a hungry sound escaped Dean’s throat.

He watched, eyes locked on his little brother, as Sam sat up and moved over him to straddle his waist. The younger teen leaned in to breathe against his ear, “Want me, Dean?”; a low groan escaped his throat as the other pressed his hips down against him. Dean could feel Sam’s hard cock, rubbing against his own through the layers of their pajamas.

“You’re so hard,” Sam murmured against his ear, nipping at his earlobe before sucking on it, “Feels like I’ve been waiting forever to feel you. I can’t wait anymore, damnit.” His hands moved to Sam’s hips, gripping tight, as the other rocked down against him, sending pleasure and need shooting through him. 

When Sam’s lips brushed against his, a low growl escaped Dean’s throat and he reached up to catch hold of his brother’s hair. He tangled his fingers in the shaggy, chestnut locks and tugged, turning his head to slot their mouths together.

“Sam. Sammy,” Dean whispered against his mouth, “Missed you so much, little brother. Missed this.”

Sam nodded in agreement. He wasn’t certain how he understood what Dean was trying to say - hell, he wasn’t certain the words made sense – but at the moment he didn’t really care. He shifted forward to press his body against his brother’s, needing more of him; when he licked along Dean’s bottom lip, Dean growled and hauled him tight against him.

Sam moaned as Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth to taste him, and the sound sparked a hunger within the older of the two. He tugged harder on his brother’s hair, claiming his mouth with his own as he rocked his hips up against the other’s. 

When he shoved his hand into Sam’s pajama pants a minute later, he found that his brother’s hot, hard cock was dripping. He wrapped his hand around the shaft to stroke it, and Sam shuddered in pleasure. Dean pulled his hand free a minute later, raised it to his mouth to lick the precum from his fingers and palm, and Sam whined in need, pupils blown wide as he watched. 

His hand found his brother’s cock again and Sam bucked hard against him, needy little noises escaping his throat. “Want you to cum on me, Dean,” the younger teen pleaded against his ear, catching his earlobe between his teeth to suck and bite and lick, “Please..”

Dean growled and grabbed hold of Sam’s hips: moments later, he flipped them so that Sam was beneath him, pinned down on the mattress. His brother’s hands fumbled at the waist of his pajama bottoms, shoving them and his boxers down to expose his hard, aching shaft. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned as the other’s hand wrapped around his dick, stroking him; he jerked off his shirt at Sam’s urging, struggled to kick off his pants and boxers, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Finally, though, he accomplished that suddenly-difficult task and he straddled his brother’s hips, shifting his ass down against Sam’s cock and watching in pleasure as his brother fell apart beneath him.

“Cum on me,” Sam pleaded again, jacking him faster, “Please Dean, want your cum all over me..” 

“Mine,” Dean growled as he began to cum, hot white ribbons of it painting his brother’s stomach and chest, “My Sammy.” Sam moaned as some of it hit him in the mouth; he licked it off his lips as he arched hard against Dean, cock pulsing as he spilled his load in his pants. 

Fascinated by the sight of his brother licking his fluids from his lips, Dean scooped some of the warm cum from Sam’s chest with his fingers, pressed them against his brother’s mouth. Sam opened for him, lips closing around his fingers to suck them clean with a soft moan. When his brother whispered, “More,” Dean breathed out a low, ‘fuck’ and scooped up more, feeding it to Sam. 

Sam took every bit that Dean fed him, sucking it off his fingers and licking his palm to get the last drops. Dean pressed a hot, hard kiss against the other’s mouth, invading with his tongue and tasting himself. Both were breathless when they finally parted, chests heaving as they gasped for air.

Dean groaned, cock twitching, as Sam caught his earlobe between his teeth and whispered, “Can’t wait til you let me drink it straight from your dick.”

Twenty minutes later, they had managed to part long enough to clean up a bit and change into clean clothing. Sam crawled in the bed next to Dean – the sight of him wearing a pair of Dean’s pajama pants made Dean want to pin his brother to the bed all over again. He tugged the other in close as Sam snuggled up against him, pressed his face against the younger teen’s neck. 

When he fell asleep a short while later, wrapped in Sam’s arms, he slept through the night and his dreams left him in peace.

 

Morning found Sam in the kitchen, fixing pancakes for breakfast. He glanced over as John entered the kitchen, followed a minute later by Bobby. Both men headed straight for the coffee pot.

“Morning,” Sam greeted with a grin, “You guys want some pancakes?” 

“There bacon to go with that?” Bobby asked, carrying his coffee cup to the table and taking a seat. At Sam’s affirmation, he agreed, “Well hell yes, then!” prompting another laugh from Sam.

“Where’s Dean?” John asked as he joined Bobby at the table.

“Backyard,” Sam answered, flipping the pancakes in the pan. 

“What’s he doing out there this early?”

“Having a staring contest with the neighbor’s cat,” Sam flipped the pancakes onto a plate already stacked with them. He carried it and a plate of bacon to the table as John stared at him for a moment: the man shook his head and didn’t pursue the cat-staring statement. 

“Sam.”

Sam turned his gaze to his father, and John studied him for a moment before asking, “Don’t you think you and Dean are a little old to be sharing a bed?”

He frowned, trying to ignore the flush that touched his cheeks as a memory of crawling on top of his brother and stroking him off this morning danced through his head. “He sleeps better that way,” he informed, grabbing a bottle of syrup and placing it on the table, “Doesn’t have as many bad dreams. He barely sleeps as it is, so if it helps him sleep better –” He shrugged a shoulder, declining to mention that he slept better in his brother’s arms, as well. 

John made a noncommital ‘hmm’ and turned his attention to his breakfast. 

Sam moved to the kitchen cabinet where Dean’s meds were kept, and pulled out several pill bottles. He opened them and took out Dean’s morning meds, double-checking the dosage as he did every morning and evening, before returning them to their cabinet. 

“He taking those for you?”

Sam nodded and grabbed a gallon of orange juice out of the fridge, which he placed on the table near Bobby. He went to the back door and opened it to call, “Breakfast, Dean.” 

When Dean entered the kitchen two minutes later, notebook in hand, he glanced at the men at the table before turning his eyes to Sam. Sam motioned toward the table with his thumb and, after a moment’s hesitation, the older teen moved to sit down. 

Sam took a seat beside him and raised his hand, palm up: he opened it to reveal Dean’s meds. Dean stared at the pills for a second before picking them up and tossing them in his mouth. His brother accepted the glass of orange juice Bobby had poured and offered him now, and washed the meds down with it.

Sam’s eyes fell to Dean’s mouth as his brother licked droplets of orange juice from his lips. He forced his eyes away as his brother smirked at him, focusing on John as the man asked, 

“When does soccer practice start?” 

“Tuesday,” Sam replied, forking a bite of pancake into his mouth. He continued, mouth full, “Coach is a drill seargent, he wants to get an early start I guess.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Sam,” his father reprimanded, glancing up at him, “Didn’t he start earlier last summer?”

Sam nodded, chewing and swallowing his food before speaking again, “Yeah, but his oldest daughter got married last weekend so he had to push off drills to go out of town for that.” 

“What are you going to do when Sam’s at school and I’m at the campus, Dean?”

John’s question caught Dean off-guard, and he raised his eyes to stare at the man. “Uh,” he blinked, dropped his gaze back to the food on his plate, “I don’t know.” He poked at his pancake with his fork, “I won’t go through your stuff while you’re gone, don’t worry.”

“Wasn’t a concern,” John responded, meeting Dean’s gaze. Dean nodded and dropped his eyes to his plate again.

“You could always come to school with me,” Sam shot his brother a grin. 

“I think your teachers might notice if there’s an unregistered student in their classroom, Sam,” John commented, “Besides that, Dean has his diploma already.” His father met his gaze, and Sam read the look on the man’s face as his father quirked a smile at him: John wasn’t comfortable with Dean being in a classroom full of students.

“I guess you’ll have to help me with Latin after school,” he teased his brother.  
“Don’t think you need help, Sam,” the older teen replied, cutting his pancakes into smaller and smaller pieces, “You’re pretty good at it.”

“You know Latin, Dean?” There was surprise in John’s voice as the man raised his eyes to his oldest son. The young man was motionless for a moment, before nodding once. 

“You didn’t know?” Sam’s eyes shifted to his father, “How did you think he was drawing all those symbols and wards and stuff?”

“I figured he was copying something he had seen,” John admitted.

“They teach you Latin in the hospital, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes shifted to Bobby at the question; he hesitated before answering, “No. Not that I remember, at least.” His eyes returned to John as the man asked curiously,  
“Where did you learn it, then?”

Sam saw his brother shift in his chair, uneasy that the focus of the conversation was on him. “Don’t know,” the other answered, voice low, “Just know it.”

John and Bobby exchanged puzzled glances; they turned their eyes to Sam as he told them, “He writes it better than I do.”

“Not good with pronunciations like you are, though,” the other teen murmured, shooting him a look of pride, “You’re a natural at that.” Sam felt warmth crawl up along his ribs and into his chest; that look was directed toward him, about him. He shot his brother a shy smile, dropping his head to hide his pleased flush. 

Their gazes returned to Bobby as the man asked, brow furrowed, “How can you just know a language like Latin? You had to have learned it _some place_.”

Dean shrugged, repeated, “Don’t know. Don’t remember.” When he started biting his lip, a sign of his unease, Sam rescued him by switching the subject to John’s upcoming college courses,

“What’s on your syllabus this semester, dad?”

Dean shot him a grateful look as John dove into that topic, and Sam shifted his leg beneath the table to rub his ankle against his brother’s. 

 

They were sitting on the front step earlier when Jessica and Gabriel appeared in their view. They watched as Sam’s friends moved along the sidewalk in their direction, Jessica’s hands moving about as she talked to Gabe about something.

When the teens reached them, Sam greeted them with a grin and Jessica returned it with an enthusiastic “Hi, bitches!”  
“She’s had way too much iced coffee,” Gabriel apologized, pretending to duck as Jessica swung a hand in his direction.  
“No such thing as too much iced coffee,” the girl defended, “Scootch, Sam.” She sat down on the step beside him, and Gabriel dropped to the ground nearby. 

“So,” Gabe started as he plucked a blade of grass, “How was your weekend? You guys have any more wrestling matches?” His leering grin was partially teasing, and Sam rolled his eyes, even as his face heated up. 

“Oh my gosh,” Jessica giggled, “Did you video it, at least?”

“Jess!” Sam shot her an embarrassed glare – she giggled again – before shifting his eyes to Dean. His brother was staring at him, unreadable expression on his face: Sam’s face flamed with color as his older brother suddenly mused aloud, “We can video it? Let’s do that next time.”

As his best friends practically rolled on the ground in amusement and Dean gave him a heated look that sent his heart stuttering across his ribs and threatened to make his insides go gooey, Sam knew he wasn’t going to ever hear the end of that one. He found that he didn’t really care, either.

 

“Doctor Murphy called to check on you today.”

Dean tensed at the doctor’s name but remained silent, his eyes locked on the bedroom window. He needed to put salt lines down on the sill; protection sigils were effective but it never hurt to take extra precautions. 

“I know you’re not fond of him, Dean – “ 

Dean scowled at the remark, shooting a brief glance at the man standing in his doorway. ‘Not fond of him’ was an understatement. Dean knew what the psychiatrist was beneath the meat suit he wore, even if he was the only person who realized it, and he had zero trust or respect for the man. 

“You feel that way about me?” John asked, voice quiet as he moved into the room.

His eyes shifted to the room’s corner as he heard Lucifer chuckle.  
_Go on, Dean. Tell him how you really feel. Sam will **love** that._

He remained silent, eyes dropping to his hands, which were clasped tightly together in his lap. He swallowed hard as he heard a sigh from the man in the room with him: he couldn’t shake the fear that John would send him back to the hospital if he upset the man. It was a fear that continually wrapped a vice around his heart, tried to crawl up his throat. 

He raised startled eyes as John sat on the edge of his bed. It was almost on instinct that he scooted away from the man, pressing back against the wall. His father noticed his reaction and frowned; after a moment, the man spoke again,

“I’m trying my best here, Dean.” 

He remained silent, and John sighed again.  
“Sometimes it’s like you’re looking right through me. Do you even hear anything I say?”

“I hear you,” he muttered, eyes flicking to Lucifer, whom was sticking his tongue out at John. He scowled at the blond – the hallucination, Doctor Murphy had told him repeatedly over the years – and Lucifer smirked in return. 

“What can I do to fix this?”

Dean’s eyes shifted from Lucifer to John at the question.  
_Hear that? He wants to fix it._  
He threw a muttered, “Shut up” toward the blond (drawing a bewildered look and a glance toward the corner from John) and Lucifer pretended to zip closed his mouth.  
He stared at John for a long minute, running the question through his head. Finally, he shrugged a lean shoulder and replied, “Don’t know if it can be fixed.” 

The man reached toward him as if to lay a hand on his knee; he paused as Dean glared at him and, after a moment, dropped his hand. John ran a hand through his hair, before he started to rise from the bed. He froze, eyes shifting back to the young man, as Dean said, voice almost a whisper,

“You said you would come back.”

“What?”

“When I was little,” pain laced Dean’s voice as he stared at the bed covers, face troubled, “You said you would come back for me. You didn’t. You f- forgot about me.”

“Dean,” John breathed, closing his eyes for a moment, “I didn’t. I didn’t forget about you. I thought about you every single day.”

Green eyes lifted to meet his as Dean countered quietly, “You let Sam forget about me. Did you stop wanting me because you think my brain is messed up?”

“Dean, no,” tears filled John’s eyes at the question, the confusion and hurt in his son’s voice, “I never stopped wanting you.”

“I waited but you didn’t come to take me home, like you said you would,” the words were a whisper,”and you didn’t let me see Sam.” Before John could say anything else, Dean shifted to lay on the bed, his back to him.

“Son – “ John started, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder.  
The young man flinched away and muttered, voice barely audible, “Not your son.”  
John withdrew his hand, brows drawn together as he stared at Dean’s back. After a long moment, he stood and moved to leave the room. He paused in the door to look back at Dean, but the young man’s back was still to him.

John left the room with a heavy heart: he had broken his relationship with his oldest years ago, with the choices he had made, and he wasn’t certain it could be repaired. 

 

“Here.”

John raised his eyes as he heard Bobby’s voice, then accepted the beer the man offered him. He opened it as the other sat down on the front step beside him. 

“Didn’t go well?”

He shook his head no and gave a brief summery of his conversation with Dean. When he was finished, he shoved his hand through his hair with a sigh. “They don’t give you a manual when you have kids,” he muttered, pausing to take a drink of his beer, “There’s no guidebook for shit like this, or what to do when your young child exhibits signs of a mental disorder.” He stared at the ground for a moment before finishing, “Maybe I made the wrong choices, but I didn’t know what the hell else to do.” 

“You did your best,” Bobby soothed, dropping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly, “Like you said, there’s no manual for it.”

“Sam thinks he can help him.” John studied the beer can in his hand, trailing a thumb through the condensation that was gathering on the side. He sighed and downed another drink, before continuing, “I guess I really am an awful father, but I just don’t hold his convictions about it. I’ve watched Dean struggle with this for his entire life. I’m not sure I believe anymore that he can get better.” He shot his brother a glance, found Bobby studying him. A sardonic smile touched his mouth, “Father of the year material, right?”

“It’s a difficult situation, John. You’ve watched him struggle and not get any better. Sam’s just now learning who his brother is, so he has more.. enthusiasm. They do have a bond that Dean doesn’t have with anyone else, so maybe Sam _can_ bring him out of it. Part-ways, at least. Eventually.” 

Both men were silent for several minutes, drinking their beers and watching the few cars that passed by. The neighborhood was slow this time of day; most people were at work or on vacation. 

“What’s eating you?”

John glanced over at the question, hesitation in his features. Finally he asked, “You think they’re _too_ close, Bobby?” He went back to wiping condensation from his can, “Yeah, they have that bond you just mentioned, and Dean will barely let anyone else near him. Sometimes, though..” He frowned a bit, “The way they look at each other..”

He shook his head and finished his beer, leaning over to set the can on the ground beside his feet. When he straightened, he glanced over at Bobby and found that the man was staring off, lost in thought.

“I don’t know, John,” Bobby spoke finally, meeting his gaze, “I think there’s something there that we don’t really understand, because we can’t figure out how Dean thinks, while Sam seems to have picked up on it right away. And Dean doesn’t trust anyone but Sam and that makes it more complicated. I just – I don’t know. I do feel that Dean wouldn’t be doing as well as he is right now if Sam wasn’t in the picture.” 

The two sat in silence for a while after that, lost in their thoughts and their worries.


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soccer. Therapy. Days in the lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick 'filler' chapter - gotta get back to work!

Tuesday found Sam climbing into the Impala, where his father was waiting behind the wheel. He had soccer practice at his high school for a couple of hours. It was his first trip away from the house without his brother. His dad had jokingly asked if he was going to enjoy his ‘freedom’. He had shot the man a smile but remained silent, eyes flicking to the house’s front door. He didn’t bother to correct John and tell him no, it didn’t feel like freedom, it felt like something was missing. He wanted to run back into the house and grab Dean’s hand and drag him to the car. He had even suggested to John that Dean come to soccer practice with him, but his father hadn’t been comfortable with that idea. 

“Dean’s had near altercations the two trips we’ve made away from the house, Sam,” the man had reminded him, “Let’s just wait a bit before taking him some place where he’s going to see other kids trying to knock your block off with a soccer ball.”

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at the house as they backed out of the drive, and then headed down the street.

“He’ll be fine,” John told him, “Bobby’s with him.” 

Sam loved soccer and he loved playing for his team, but the next 3 ½ hours seemed like the longest of his life. It didn’t help that he was distracted and off his game, so to speak: unusual for him, and his coach had him running laps for it. 

Soccer was off to a fine start.

When he had run his last lap and collapsed on the field next to Gabriel, panting for breath, his friend handed him a bottle of water. He finished half the bottle before breathing out a “Thanks”. The blond smiled, reached over and smacked him on the back of the head, and told him, 

“Dean’s fine. Chill out. You worry like my grandma.” 

“Your grandma gives sky-diving lessons and her motto is ‘fuck all you bitches’. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t worry that much.” He countered, smirking at his friend. Gabriel nodded and shrugged as he agreed,

“Yeah, okay. You worry way more than my grandma.”

 

Gabe’s mom dropped him off in front of his house half an hour later. Sam waved goodbye as she backed out of the drive, before turning and entering the house. 

His startled exclamation never even made it past his lips, as Dean’s tight hug nearly knocked the breath out of him. “Hi Dean,” he laughed as his brother greeted him with his customary embrace. He slipped his arms around his brother and rubbed a hand down his back, “Did you miss me?”

“Is soccer over for forever?” came the muffled reply against his neck.

Sam laughed again and shook his head, “Afraid not. It’s over for today, though, and I need a shower.” He smiled as the other’s hold tightened momentarily and Dean’s tongue trailed up the side of his neck. “Salty,” his brother murmured before stepping back, allowing him to continue his trek through the house. 

“Tease,” Sam hissed with a mock glare, drawing a grin from Dean. 

John and Bobby had commandeered the living room to watch sports after dinner, so Sam and Dean were in Sam’s room. Sam was checking email and Dean was wandering the room, touching random objects and looking at everything. Hazel eyes shifted to Dean as the older Winchester asked, 

“What’s this?”

He glanced at the item in Dean’s hand and answered,   
“Blacklight paint.”   
The teen laid his laptop aside and moved to his desk. He opened a drawer and grabbed a small, oblong object out of it, then crossed to the closet. Dean watched curiously as he opened the door, then approached as Sam motioned for him.

“Don’t tell Dad that me and Gabe painted on the walls,” he said with a grin as he raised the object in his hand and flicked it on. A purpleish light shone from it, on the wall: what had appeared to be a blank space now Sam’s and Gabriel’s names in white. “Only shows up under this type of light,” he informed, shutting off the handheld light and offering it to Dean. He chuckled as Dean flicked the light back on, raising green eyes to stare at the names which appeared on the walls again.

“Huh,” his brother flicked the light off again before glancing down at the small spray can of blacklight paint in his hand. He moved to the bookshelf where he had found the paint and placed the can and the light there, then followed Sam back to the bed.

Sam scooted over on the bed, allowing Dean to settle in beside him. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, hands behind his head. “What do you want to do, now that you’re out of the hospital?” he asked, turning his eyes to his brother.

“Do?” Dean scratched his head, eyes on the bed covers. He raised them to Sam, “You mean like.. future goals or something?” 

“Yeah. What do you want to do with your future?”

“Dunno,” the older teen shrugged a shoulder, “”Go wherever you go.” The other frowned a bit before shifting green eyes to Sam, “Is that creepy? Or weird, or something?” He traced a fingertip over his knee, seemingly random patterns – Sam recognized it as one of the protection sigils on Dean’s wall. 

He met his brother’s gaze and shot Dean a grin, “I’m okay with you going wherever I go. ‘Course, I’m okay with you having your own future planned out, too.”

“Never really had any type of future plans, Sammy,” the young man admitted after several moments of silence, “Honestly never thought I would get out of the hospital, so I never considered what to do if I got out. Except travelling, always wanted to go places.” He shot Sam a brief smile, “Kinda figured it would be nice, after being in one place for so long.”

“We’ll travel,” Sam promised softly as he reached out and caught his brother’s hand to entwine their fingers, “Might not be right now, but when I’m out of high school, we’ll travel. We’ll go anyplace you want to go.”

The sweet smile on Dean’s face, the look of adoration in his eyes, caused Sam’s heart to stutter in his chest (something that seemed to happen a lot when his brother turned that certain, sweet smile on him). “Any place you’re at works for me, Sammy,” his brother said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. 

Sam glanced at his bedroom door, which was cracked open a bit. After making certain that anyone in the hall couldn’t see their position with the door closed as it was, he leaned in to brush his mouth against Dean’s. His brother responded eagerly, raising a hand to slip it into his hair as the other’s tongue explored his mouth. When Dean’s fingers caught his hair, tugged lightly to pull him closer, Sam let a soft, low moan escape his throat. 

“You like that,” Dean noted against his mouth, punctuating the words with kisses. Sam nodded, pressed closer as the other tugged his hair again.

“Like it a lot,” he whispered, shivers of pleasure running through him as the other trailed kisses from his mouth to his jawline and up to his ear. 

“Mm,” Dean nipped his earlobe before sucking it lightly, “I’ll have to keep that in mind when we’re home alone again.”

Sam battled the urge to crawl on top of the other as he remembered that their father and uncle were elsewhere in the house. He pulled back slightly, flicked his gaze toward the bedroom door, then back to Dean. The other shifted to lay on his back, tugging Sam down beside him. Sam cuddled close, side pressed against Dean’s and head resting on his shoulder. 

He sighed in contentment as Dean’s fingers stroked through his hair.   
“Love you, Sammy,” the words were soft-spoken, as if his brother was afraid to voice them aloud. He smiled and shifted closer, pressed a kiss against Dean’s chest before whispering, “Love you too, Dean.”

 

When John pushed open the door to Sam’s room that night, he found both his sons lying in Sam’s bed. Sam appeared to be sleeping, but Dean was awake, staring at him as he stepped into the room. His eyes took in the two: Sam was against Dean’s side, head resting on the older teen’s shoulder as he slept, and Dean’s arms were around him. He didn’t miss the way Dean’s arms tightened around Sam as John studied them, nor the wary look his oldest son was giving him. 

“Thought I might find you in here,” he remarked to Dean as he moved closer to the bed and the boys on it, “You have an appointment with a therapist tomorrow. Probably should have made it sooner but I wanted to give you a couple of weeks to settle in.” 

“Doctor Murphy?” Dean’s brows drew together as he spoke the psychiatrist’s name.

“No,” John chuckled as he shook it head, “It might be a little much to drive to Colorado for weekly appointments. A woman here in town. She was recommended by one of Doctor Murphy’s collegues. 

Dean nodded his acknowledgement. John studied him a moment longer before turning and leaving the bedroom. 

 

“So like I said, my name’s Charlie Bradbury. Doctor Bradbury, if you want to be official, but I would really prefer it if you just call me Charlie. I guess I’m your new therapist!” 

Dean watched as the redheaded woman moved to lean against the edge of her desk, underestimated her movement and nearly fell over. She cleared her throat and straightened, opting to hop up and sit on her desk instead. 

Dean smirked and John raised a brow. The introductions had been made already – John had asked Charlie if she was old enough to be a therapist and she had countered that she was “plenty old enough, thank you very much” – and now they were sitting in leather armchairs in the middle of the room. 

“So, Dean, right? Dean,” the redhead picked up a file lying next to her and flipped it open, “Aurora County faxed me your records last night, and I’ve gone over them a little. Holy damn, were you _really_ in hospitals for twelve _years_? Who’s bright idea was _that_?” 

John cleared his throat and muttered, “His doctors’ and mine,” and Dean grinned. He liked this woman already. 

“Sorry,” Charlie apologized to John, “I know I might not seem professional, or boring and stuffy like most therapists, but I promise I’ll do the very best I can for your son.”

John shifted in his chair before nodding sharply – the man didn’t seem convinced, but the therapist had come highly recommended for her “unusual but effective counseling methods”. 

“So, Dean,” green eyes shifted to him, “You’ve been out for a couple of weeks, yeah? How are you doing?”

The young man stared at her for a long moment – she stared back – before answering, “Okay.”

“Okay,” the woman repeated, “Great. That’s a start. Okay is better than sucky.” She glanced down at her file, read for a minute. A frown creased her forehead as she read aloud,

“Patient exhibits violent tendencies, in addition to hallucinations and delusions. He has, during his residence here, engaged in physical altercations and attacks with several of the staff and several patients.” 

She fell silent again, still reading, before her brows shot up. “You bit an orderly?” 

Dean shrugged, glanced away uncomfortably; his own green gaze flicked back to her as she told him sternly, 

“There will be no biting here, mister. I am not even kidding about that. Are we clear?”

Dean met her gaze – the look in her eyes, a combination of warning and stubborness, reminded him a bit of Sam. He smiled suddenly, features softening, as he agreed, “Clear.”

“Great!” Charlie tossed the file on the desk and hopped off it, moving to sit in her office chair, “So you were in the hospital your whole life, no real progress, and now suddenly you’re out. What motivated you to sign him out of the hospital, Mr. Winchester?”

John was silent for several seconds, shooting a glance at Dean. “My youngest son,” he said after a moment, “Sam. He convinced me that Dean would be better off at home.”

“Has that proved to be true?”

John cast another glance at Dean before admitting, “That’s still to be determined.”  
Charlie studied him for a moment, turned her eyes to Dean, then again to John.  
“Maybe you could elaborate. Is he still having hallucinations? Violent tendencies?”

Dean shifted in his own chair, raised his hand to his mouth to chew on a thumbnail, as John answered, “He has had issues with other people and what he perceives as threats to Sam. I’m not certain about hallucinations; he doesn’t really talk to me.” 

Charlie nodded and acknowledged, “Okay. We’ll come back to that in a bit. Right now, Dean, let’s talk about some of goals you want to achieve by coming to see me.”

“Don’t wanna go back to the hospital,” Dean muttered, glancing toward the office window, “Don’t want Sam taken from me again.”

“Sam’s important to you, huh?” 

Dean nodded: Sam was beyond important. Another smile touched his lips as the redhead clapped her hands together and said, “Well then, let’s do what we can to keep you with Sam.”

 

They pulled into the drive a short while later. Dean climbed out of the car and headed for the house. He had just made it to the front step when the front door open and Sam stepped out.

“There you are!” the younger teen exclaimed, stepping to him and throwing arms around him, “What took you so long? How was your appointment? You okay?”

Dean chuckled softly, nuzzling against Sam’s hair, which was still damp from a shower and smelled of shampoo. “’m okay,” he murmured, pressing his face against his brother’s neck, “Missed you.”

“Geez,” John grumbled, approaching them, “You would think you two hadn’t seen each other in –“

“Twelve years?” both boys interrupted simultaneously, raising their heads to look at the man. Dean smirked and Sam grinned as John made a face and muttered, “You’re both grounded for the rest of your lives,” then pushed past them to go into the house.

Dean dropped his arm around Sam’s shoulders and guided him into the house, saying, “Let me tell you about my awesome new therapist.."


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer just doesn't know when to let up.  
> & then some smut (but not with Lucifer, he's imaginary/hallucination so that would just be weird).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the delay: had some work stuff occupying my time, & then traveling for the holiday.

_”Good job, Sammy! You’re doing so good!”_

_Dean was kneeling on the floor of the old house, arms stretched wide as his ten-month-old baby brother wobbled toward him. Sam grinned at the praise, his little teeth gleaming white – he had been cutting them for several months now – and took several more steps, toppling into Dean’s arms._

_“De!” the toddler crooned, little fingers tangling in five-year-old Dean’s shirt. Dean laughed and hugged his brother close and he praised,  
“You did it, Sammy! Eight whole steps! Good boy!” He raised excited green eyes to the woman standing nearby, “Mom, did you see him? Did you see him walking?”   
“I saw him, sweetie!” He couldn’t see his mother’s face but her voice was cheerful, soft, “Oh, honey, you love Sam so much. You’re going to be so hurt when I have to take him away.“_

_Dean’s smile left his face and he blinked at the woman. “Take him away?” His eyes flicked to his brother, whom was clutching to his arm and patting Dean’s face with a chubby little hand, “Why would you take him away?”_

_“Because you don’t deserve him.”_

Dean woke with a start, breathing rapid and eyes shifting quickly around the room as he sat up in bed. He looked up at the wall above the bed, checking to make certain his wards and sigils were in place, before scooting to sit back against the wall. He took several deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart; his hand was shaking as he raised it to rub his face.

His eyes shifted to the corner as he heard,  
 _Bad dream? Have those a lot, don’tcha._  
Lucifer was leaning against the closet door, staring at him.  
“Stop watching me sleep,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth.  
 _Dream mom is right, you know. You don’t deserve him._  
Dean’s brows furrowed, gaze dropping to the bed covers. He toyed with the blanket still covering his legs as the man (apparition, hallucination, whatever he was) in the corner continued,  
 _Doesn’t matter, though, since he’s not even really here._  
“Is so,” Dean countered, “ _You’re_ the one who’s not really here.”  
 _Yet you’re still talking to me._  
Dean frowned again, rubbing his hands over his arms, as the blond continued,  
 _You’re going to snap out of your break from reality sooner or later. When you do, you’ll understand what I’ve been telling you this entire time. You’re still in the hospital and Sam isn’t here._  
“Why do you keep saying that?” Dean dug his nails into his arms as he rubbed them, agitated: he paid little attention to the slight stinging sensation that followed as he ran his nails over his skin, “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” 

Lucifer shrugged a shoulder and said with a sympathetic smile, _Just trying to help, Dean._

“No you’re not!”  
The angry response was a shout; Dean realised that only after he had fallen silent again. He frowned and turned away from the blond near the closet, nails digging into his arms. He glanced down at them as he felt warmth beneath his fingertips, and found that his arms were covered in red scratches, several of which were welling with droplets of blood.

The young man looked to his bedroom door as it opened.   
“Dean?” Sam stepped into the room, eyes falling immediately on him. His brother appeared to be half-asleep still, but his eyes widened as they found him.

“Dean,” Sam breathed, crossing the room to the bed. Dean watched as his brother crawled up on the bed and took hold of his hands, pulling them away from his arms. “What’d you do?” A frown creased the other’s features as the younger teen inspected the scratches. 

“’m sorry,” Dean bit his bottom lip, watching as Sam traced a thumb over a small, moon-shaped cut, caused by his nail, which was dripping blood. He swallowed hard and repeated, voice low and nervous, “’m sorry, Sammy. Didn’t meant to – Please don’t be mad.”

Startled hazel eyes raised to meet his, and Sam reached a hand out to brush it against his face, “Dean, no.” He leaned into the touch, eyes sliding closed, as his brother stroked the backs of his knuckles over his cheek, “I’m not mad. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He felt Sam’s thumb brush over his bottom lip, gently tugging it loose from his teeth, and the other repeated, “Not mad, Dean. Just – just worried.” 

Dean swallowed again and whispered once more, “I’m sorry.” He opened his eyes as Sam shifted closer; a moment later, he was being pulled into his brother’s arms. He pressed in close, arms sliding around Sam’s back, and hid his face against the younger teen’s neck.

“What am I going to do if I wake up and you’re not really here?” 

His brother caught the muffled whisper; arms tightened around him and Sam’s fingers brushed through his hair. “I’m here, Dean. I’m here now and I’ll always be here. You’re not going to be alone again. I promise.”

He was silent for a moment – he squeezed his eyes shut as Lucifer whispered near his ear,  
 _It’s a nice dream, Dean. But is it real?_

He sighed against his brother’s skin, inhaled the scent of him, before repeating Lucifer’s words, his voice a whisper, “It’s a nice dream.”

“No!”

He drew back slightly, startled by the vehemenance in Sam’s voice; he didn’t get far, as his brother had a firm hold on him. 

“It’s _not_ a dream, and Lucifer can piss off if he’s telling you it is.” Sam’s eyes met and held his, and Dean’s throat worked as he saw the fierce determination written in his brother’s features, “I’m yours, for really real, and you’re mine, and I won’t let anything change that again, not ever. Do you understand me, Dean Winchester?”

He nodded mutely, eyes wide, and Sam huffed out a “Good,” before pulling him back into his arms and holding him tight. Dean pressed his face against Sam’s shoulder for a moment, before turning his head to hide it against his neck. He relaxed suddenly, fingers tangling in the material of Sam’s shirt, as his brother stroked in back.

 

Several minutes later, Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching as Sam cleaned his scratches with a washcloth he had soaked in warm water. He smiled softly as he studied the other, and his brother raised hazel eyes to him to ask curiously, “What?”

“Remember doing something like this for you when you were little,” he reached out and brushed a lock of Sam’s hair away from his forehead, “You fell and scraped your knee and I cleaned you up.” The warm smile his brother gave him caused his heart to lurch in his chest, and he brushed his fingers down Sam’s cheek. He studied the younger teen for a moment, frown touching his features. “Remember doing it when you were older, too. You were – were hurt, I think. I cleaned you up and took care of you.” His eyes dropped to his lap as he tried to grasp the memory, “But I guess that one can’t be real. Something I came up with in the hospital, maybe, to – to get me through the days.” Dean’s voice was a whisper as he admitted, “Sometimes I can’t remember what’s real.”

“It’s okay,” Sam brushed a thumb over the inside of his wrist – it was surprisingly soothing – and scooted closer. “It’s okay, Dean. We’re going to make real memories now, me and you.” 

 

Sam woke the next morning, wrapped in his brother’s arms. He smiled and leaned in to drop a kiss on Dean’s nose. The other smiled, eyes still closed, and Sam grinned. “I’ll be back,” he told his sleepy brother, “Don’t go any place.”

Sam entered the kitchen a couple minutes later, and found his dad and uncle standing in the kitchen.

“Bobby and I are going to run to the campus for a few hours,” his father informed, picking a set of keys up off the counter, “I have to finish up some work before classes start, and Bobby wants out of the house for a bit.” 

John’s eyes shifted toward the direction of the bedrooms; Sam refrained from rolling his own as he waved his father off and assured, “Dean and I will be fine, dad. Call me on your way home so I can beg you for Chinese takeout.” He shot his dad a grin, and John smiled and shook his head as he headed out the door.

Sam waited several minutes after his father left to make certain the Impala wasn’t going to pull back into the drive suddenly, before making his way to his brother’s bedroom.

Dean was sitting on his bed, reading a book, when Sam entered the room. The older teen raised green eyes to him, and he informed, “Dad and Bobby went to town. Just you and me here.” 

“Yeah?” Dean closed the book and tossed it to the floor as Sam crossed the room toward him. Sam crawled onto the bed; he made a sound of pleasure as Dean’s fingers caught and tangled in his hair, and the other pulled him close. Their lips met in a hard, hungry kiss, and Sam found himself practically straddling Dean’s lap.

“Drives me crazy, being around you all day every day and not being able to kiss you or touch you,” he wrapped an arm around Dean’s neck, brushed his other hand down his brother’s chest, “Take your clothes off.” 

Dean chuckled in amusement, “Aren’t we impatient?”

“Yes,” he tugged at Dean’s t-shirt, and his brother complied and helped him remove it, “Very impatient. I want to see you and touch you and lick you.” He watched Dean’s pupils dilate and the other’s hands tightened on his hips. “Take your clothes off, Dean.” 

Sam climbed off his brother’s lap and crossed the room to lock the bedroom door. When he turned, Dean was standing next to the bed, tugging down his jeans. Blue boxers were shoved down next, and Sam took in the sight.

“Ugh,” he jerked his own shirt off and slung it over his shoulder and he moved back to his brother, “How can you be so hot?” He pressed up against Dean, whom was smirking at him; their mouths met, and Sam sighed softly in pleasure. After a long, thorough kiss, during which Dean claimed and ravaged his mouth and turned Sam into a hard, shaking mess, the younger teen shoved the older back on the bed. He shucked his jeans and underwear and crawled onto the bed between his brother’s spread legs. Dean watched, eyes drinking him in, and Sam flushed slightly, suddenly shy. 

He crawled up to press his mouth against his brother’s; a low moan escaped him as Dean’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly. The older teen turned his head slightly, exposing his throat, and leaned in to nip softly at his skin. He shivered in pleasure, moving to straddle his brother’s waist. When Dean tugged him down by his hair, Sam went easily, more shivers coursing through him. He brushed his mouth against the other’s chest, trailing open-mouthed kisses to his left nipple. He traced the small, obviously sensitive nub with his tongue, then caught it with his lips and began to lightly suck at it. Dean’s low growl of pleasure drew a responding moan from him, and he pressed his hard dick down against his brother’s equally hard shaft.

When Dean’s hand wrapped around him, Sam arched hard against him, shuddering in pleasure. “Dean,” the teen kissed his way up his brother’s throat, to his ear, “Need you.”

“You got me, Sammy,” Dean whispered, brushing his mouth against his earlobe, “I’m yours. Only yours. Always been yours.”

Sam sat up to look down at the older teen, pupils lust-blown and breathing uneven. Dean watched him, one hand clutching his hip and the other stroking him slowly, drawing small gasps of pleasure from him. “Promise me,” he demanded suddenly, voice almost desperate, “Promise me you’ll always be mine.”

“Always, baby,” Dean’s fingers traced up his back, back down to his hip, “My Sammy. I’ve belonged to you since before you were born. Always gonna belong to you.”

Sam leaned down with a soft, desperate sound and pressed his mouth to his brother’s. Dean caught him with a hand on the back of his neck, kissing him slowly, tongue exploring and claiming him. When they parted finally, both attempting to catch their breath, Sam leaned in to whisper, “Always going to be yours, too, Dean.”

His brother groaned, fingers tangling in his hair to tug him down for another kiss. Dean’s hand shifted to wrap around both their dicks as they rubbed against one another, and Sam let out a groan of his own. He rocked hard against his big brother as Dean’s fingers tightened in his hair, tugging hard enough to send tiny, sharp pains through his scalp. “Fuck,” he moaned, thoroughly enjoyed the pain-pleasure combination going on, “Dean..”

The feel of his dripping cock, slipping against Dean’s, was about to drive him over the edge. When his brother rubbed a thumb over the head and pulled his head down by the hair to growl in his ear, “Wanna see you come, Sammy,” he lost it. He rocked hard against Dean as he began to cum, hot fluid shooting over his brother’s hand and his dick, painting Dean’s stomach and chest. Dean gasped his name and followed him over seconds later, shooting his own load. 

Sam had barely recovered his breath when he lowered his head and began to lick the cum – his brother’s and his own - from Dean’s chest and stomach. A low, throaty moan escaped him as his brother stroked his back and murmured, “Such a good boy, baby. My good Sammy.” 

When he finished licking his brother clean, Sam slid up to press his mouth against Dean’s. Dean responded without hesitation, slipping his tongue into his mouth and wrapping a leg around his hips to pull him closer. They parted for breath after a long minute of kissing, and Sam leaned in to nip his brother’s ear. 

“Love you, Dean. You make me feel so good, and not just like this. Feel whole now that I have you with me.”

He felt the shudder run through his brother, and Dean closed his eyes and pressed his face against Sam’s neck. “Love you, too, Sammy,” the older teen whispered against his skin, “You’re everything. You’re my world. I would do anything for you. Anything.”

“Just stay with me,” he dropped soft, gentle kisses on the other’s face, his lips, the line of his jaw.

“Death couldn’t keep me from you,” his brother vowed solemnly, “I’m yours.”

Sam laid his head on Dean’s chest, a smile touching his lips. He knew exactly how his brother felt, because he felt the same.


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School, texts, soccer games, panic attacks.

Two days later, Sam was sitting through his first day of classes. He was two hours into the day, the beginning of his second class, when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced toward the front of the room, where his history teacher was at the board – he, Gabriel and Jessica were in the back row – before pulling it out. A glance at the lock screen showed him it was a text message. 

Several days prior, Sam had given Dean a spare cell phone of his father’s. He had shown his brother the basics and programmed his own number into the phone. Now, sitting in class, he grinned as he saw the _’good morning’_ text from his brother. He glanced up to make certain his teacher’s back was still to him before responding with one of his own.

The second text read _’miss you’_. The thirty-three following texts he received throughout the day? Random messages or questions or more _’miss you’_. By the end of the day, his friends were teasing him about it and Sam couldn’t stop grinning. 

 

When his phone vibrated at the beginning of his second class on his second day, he pulled it out and opened the message. He stared at the picture text for a moment, blinking: his heart gave a wild lurch (and so did other parts of his body) and his face flushed as he realized what was in front of him. 

“Holy shit!”  
It took him a moment – and the giggling of his classmates and his teacher asking, “Problem, Sam?” - to realize that he had spoken the words aloud. Sam shoved the phone in his pocket before his teacher could spot it and muttered, “Sorry, no,” as he hid his face behind his book. When he raised his eyes again, Jessica and Gabriel were smirking at him. 

The picture on his phone was of Dean; he was obviously holding the phone in one hand, and had it angled down to show half his face and most of his very naked body. His other hand was wrapped around his hard dick. The message that accompanied it read _’Thinking about you’_. 

Just thinking about it had him hard in his jeans.  
“Are you getting sexy text messages this morning, Sam?” Jess teased when the class _finally_ ended.

“Uh,” Sam flushed again, a grin touching his own mouth, “Pictures. He sent me a picture.” 

“Ooh, can we see?” 

“No!” he exclaimed, glaring at her. She smirked as Gabriel laughed and guessed, “ _That_ kind of picture, huh?”

“I hate you both.”

He pulled out his phone and sent his brother a quick text:  
‘Send any more of those and I’ll end up in the bathroom jerking off’.  
He received a response a minute later:  
_Save that for me, you can jerk off on me tonight._  
That one did have him rushing to and hiding in the school bathroom until his body calmed itself down.

 

There weren’t any pictures the third day, but the text message he received was quite graphic. He was reading it when his phone was suddenly snatched from his hand. He raised startled eyes and found his AP English teacher glaring at him.

“Uh, you probably don’t wanna – “ Sam started as the man dropped his eyes to read the message.

His teacher’s face was bright red when he abruptly handed the phone back to Sam fifteen seconds later. “Well. I would give that an A for good usage of descriptive adjectives,” the man muttered awkwardly, drawing a laugh from the class and a groan of embarrassment from Sam.

He half-feared and half-hoped the entire school year would bring messages like that (and those sexy, amused smirks from Dean when he told his brother how they affected him). 

Sam had been concerned about how Dean would handle him being away all day, for school and soccer practice. His brother seemed to be handling it fairly well. There was quite a bit of extra touching when he made it home every day – little touches on his arm, or back, or fingers brushing his face, the type Dean used to assure himself that Sam was really there – but the older teen was managing. He alternated his time, according to Bobby, between his room, the back yard, and watching television or sitting in the kitchen with their Uncle. 

 

The first soccer game of the season was the first Friday night of school, and Sam was on the starting line-up. John had just pulled up to his school to drop him off the morning of, when Sam asked, “Are you going to let Dean come to the game tonight?”

There was silence for several moments before John agreed, “I guess we can give it a shot. Can’t keep him in the house forever.” He smiled and shook his head as Sam grinned and gave him a one-armed hug before grabbing his backpack and sliding out of the passenger seat.

 

Dean sat in the bleachers at Sam’s school’s soccer field that evening, eyes on his brother, whom was on the field below. John, Bobby and Jessica were sitting next to him, the girl on one side and John on the other. He half-listened to their conversations as he watched Sam warming up with his teammates on the field. 

He had seen a basketball game or two on television in the hospital. Still, it caught him offguard when, once the game had started, the people around him yelled or cheered at calls or when points were scored. He flinched at the noise for the first few minutes, but gradually relaxed as he focused on Sam. 

His brother was quite graceful on the soccer field. He stared in fascination as the younger teen maneuvered the ball down the field, successfully eluding the opposing team as he ran toward the large net at the field’s end.

Dean watched as his brother kicked the soccer ball into the large net ( _the goal_ , he recalled). His brother’s team members, and their supporters in the stands, cheered. Pride for his little brother welled in him, and a smile touched his lips.

Dean’s smile vanished as he watched Gabriel grab Sam in a hug, lifting him off the ground. His brother was laughing as he hugged him back. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the feeling that was crawling up from his stomach and into his chest. His relationships had been limited throughout the years, usually to doctor-patient or nurse-patient or crazy person-crazy person; still, he knew enough to know that it was jealousy crawling through him. It wasn’t only that Gabriel’s hands were on Sam, pulling him close for a hug (though that was probably part of it). It was the sudden realisation that Sam’s friends had been there for him for far longer than Dean had. They had been with his brother, been there _for_ him, when he couldn’t. When his brother hadn’t even known he existed.

Something unpleasant was worming its way into his throat, and he swallowed again. 

Dean’s eyes shifted to his left as he heard,  
_Well, they’re certainly cozy._  
Lucifer was propped on the bleacher seat just below him, in front of Jessica, long legs stretched out in front of him and eyes on the soccer field.  
_Think they’re fucking?_  
The question caught him off guard and he blinked at the being beside him. “Shut up,” he hissed, voice low – that thought hadn’t ever crossed his mind, not until Lucifer’s question, “Just – they’re not. Shut _up_.” 

His eyes shifted to Jessica, whom was sitting near him, as she leaned in a bit closer and asked softly, “You okay?” He gave her a brief nod; she studied him for a moment before turning her eyes back to the soccer field. 

His green gaze returned to the field, and he found Sam looking in his direction. His brother shot him a grin and waved, before running off to join his teammates. 

_You have to ask yourself,_ Lucifer’s voice was a low murmur near his ear – the man was suddenly between him and Jess - _what’s he need you for when he has his friends? What will his future be if he’s dragging his crazy brother around after him? Not much of one, I’m guessing._

Something that felt far too close to fear wrapped its claws around his heart, and his breath stuttered in his throat. What _would_ Sam’s future be, with Dean tagging along behind him? What could it be, if he was looking after his crazy brother all the time? Sam had to have made plans of some type, right? Some type of future goals? College? A life beyond? He hadn’t mentioned them to Dean, not since their conversation when he had asked Dean his own future plans, and Dean had answered ‘to go where you go’.

What kind of future could he give his brother, his beloved, his very universe, when he could barely sit through this soccer game without going onto the field and shoving every other person out there away from Sam?

His eyes shifted back to Lucifer as the being warned,  
_He’s going to realise you’re holding him down one day soon, and he’s going to leave you._

“No,” he shook his head, voice barely a whisper.  
_Come on, Dean. Do you really want to ruin him for whatever greatness is waiting for him?_  
His eyes dropped to the bleachers in front of him as he shook his head no and whispered, eyes closed, “No.”

His hands were shaking and he felt like he was suffocating when he raised his eyes to watch his little brother again. Maybe Lucifer was right: Maybe Sam would be better off without him.

He, however, wouldn’t be better without Sam. Maybe that made him selfish, but he had spent a lifetime apart from his brother, and he didn’t think he could do it again.  
He couldn’t breathe. Without his brother, he couldn’t breathe.  
Here in these bleachers, he couldn’t breathe. 

He heard the being next to him laugh as he found himself struggling to draw air into his lungs. After what seemed like endless moments of hyperventilating as panic and despair crawled through him, the edges of his vision began to go dark. He gasped for breath, leaning forward slightly as his lungs constricted: he started and tried to shy away as a cool hand dropped suddenly to the back of his neck.

“Breathe, Dean,” Jessica’s voice was in his ears, but it sounded distant, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He shook his head, chest and head aching from a lack of oxygen. He tried to calm himself down, tried to remember to count his breaths until this passed, but couldn’t manage it.

“Dean?” John’s voice near him now, and a large hand on his back. Dean shied away from him, tried to tell the man to stop touching him. It came out as a wheezing sound, a gasping for breath he couldn’t find. The hand caught hold of him, John’s voice speaking to him, but Dean shoved him off and pushed to his feet, stumbling away from the man. 

His pulse was a dull roar in his ears when hands grabbed hold of his shoulders again, halting him.

“Dean!” 

His brother’s voice, alarmed and afraid, sounded near his ear, and he opened his eyes. He met his brother’s frightened gaze as Sam seated him on the bleacher seat and his hands moved up grasp Dean’s face.  
“Dean,” the teen whispered, grabbing his hand and pressing it against his chest, “Breathe with me, okay?”  
He felt his brother’s rapid heartbeat beneath his palm, the chest that rose and fell with Sam’s breathing. He closed his eyes, trying to pace his breathing with Sam’s. The iron grip on his lungs loosed a bit, and he was able to draw an easier breath, then another, and another.

When he was breathing almost normally again, Dean met his brother’s gaze. The other stared at him for a moment, his features almost panicked, before pulling him into his arms. Dean breathed a sigh against Sam’s skin as he buried his face against his neck.

“Dean,” Sam whispered in his ear, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”  
He nodded wearily against the teen’s shoulder, and allowed Sam to guide him down the bleachers as his brother instructed softly,  
“Come on. We’re going home.”

“Your game..” he started, voice hoarse.  
“Screw the game,” Sam pulled him close as they reached the bottom of the bleachers and moved toward the parking lot and the Impala, “You’re more important than the game.”

They were in the car several minutes later, seated in the back. Dean, head resting on Sam’s shoulder, opened his eyes as John asked, “Do you have panic attacks like that frequently, Dean?”

He shook his head, eyes slipping closed. “Not since I was little,” he muttered. His eyes shifted to Bobby as their uncle asked,  
“What caused this one?”

Dean was motionless for a moment before shaking his head and closing his eyes again. He felt Sam’s fingers brushing through his hair as the other whispered,  
“I’ve got you, Dean. I’m right here.”

Dean swallowed hard as Lucifer, sitting between him and the door, hummed and asked,  
_But for how long?_

 

When they were home again, Dean muttered, “Gonna rest,” and headed toward his bedroom. Sam watched, brows furrowed, as his brother walked away, head bowed and arms wrapped around himself. His eyes flitted to his father as John dropped a hand on his shoulder and soothed, 

“That panic attack probably took a lot out of him. Rest will be good for him.”

He nodded and ran a hand through his hair, unable to shake the feeling that burned through him. With a sigh, he went to grab clean clothing and take a shower. His coach was probably pissed that he had not only left the field mid-game, after glancing up toward Dean and seeing that the young man was in distress, but had left the game altogether. Regrettable, but too bad. Dean meant more than any soccer game ever would.

After his shower, Sam went to his room to get dressed, and found a message from Gabriel on his phone.  
_First half just ended, we’re winning. Told coach you had fam emergency. He’s cool. Jess told me what happened. How’s Dean? You OK?_  
He smiled at the message – Gabriel always had his back – and sent back a text:  
“I think he’s okay now. He’s resting. I’m okay, just worried about him. Thanks for telling coach. xo.”  
The response came back a minute later:  
_No prob. Call me if you need me._

Sam knocked softly on Dean’s door several minutes later. He entered after hearing his brother call, “Come in,” and found Dean sitting on his bed. His brother had a journal open on his lap and a pen in his hand.

“Hi,” he greeted as he crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, “You okay?”  
The young man nodded yes and muttered, “I’m fine,” eyes on the journal on his lap.  
Sam studied him for a moment before reaching out and brushing his fingers against Dean’s ankle. He blinked in surprise as, after several seconds of allowing his touch, Dean pulled his foot away. His brother closed the journal and tossed it aside before saying quietly, “I’m gonna lay down. Night, Sam.” 

Sam watched, his heart in his throat, as his brother shifted to lay down, his face to the wall and his back to him. He recognized it for what it was – a dismissal – and he swallowed hard. It was the first time Dean had dismissed him like that, the first time he had pulled away from his touch, and Sam couldn’t deny the confusion and hurt that rushed through him at the gesture. He closed his eyes for a moment as he reminded himself that Dean had just had a panic attack and was probably tired and upset. It didn’t ease the hurt within him very much, but he wasn’t going to invade his brother’s space if Dean needed time alone.

Still, he couldn’t keep the slight catch out of his voice as he responded softly, “N- night, Dean.” 

He was motionless for a moment longer before finally standing and leaving the bedroom.

Sam was lying in his own bed a while later, staring up at the ceiling, when his cracked-open door was pushed further open. He turned his eyes toward it, and found Dean standing in the doorway. He sat up slightly, propping himself on his elbows, as his brother hesitated; a moment later, Dean was moving across the room.

Sam met the green gaze as Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, saw the uncertainty in his eyes.  
“Sammy, I’m sorry,” his brother’s voice was low, nervous, “I – I didn’t mean to – I wasn’t trying to push you away. Not deliberately. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Sam sat up and raised a hand to brush it against Dean’s cheek. His brother leaned into his touch, eyes slipping closed and a low sigh escaping him.

“Not okay if I hurt you,” the other whispered, “That’s never okay.”

He shifted closer to pull his brother in his arms – Dean came easily, clinging to him – and assured, “You’re allowed to have time to deal with stuff, Dean. It’s okay if you need to do it on your own. Just – I’m always going to be here when you need me, okay? Always.”

His brother nodded, pressing his face against Sam’s neck, and the younger teen kissed the top of his head. He laid down, pulling Dean down with him, and drew the blanket up over them both.

He laughed softly as Dean said suddenly,  
“You don’t suck at soccer.”  
“Thanks, I think,” he said, smirk touching his mouth.  
“Sorry about your game.”  
“It’s okay. There will be more games.”

The brothers laid in silence for several minutes, Sam rubbing Dean’s back and Dean playing with Sam’s hair. Younger brother glanced at older after a short while, and Dean blinked sleepily at him, a soft smile on his face.  
“Sam.”  
“Yeah?”  
“What do you want to do with _your_ future?”  
“Spend it with you.”


	21. 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Busted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Been way too busy, and will be for the next week or two. Trying to write in-between the busy, when I have free time & aren't falling asleep over the keyboard!  
> Next chapter is half.written & should be longer.
> 
> ALSO: Thank you all for the lovely notes & such. ^_^ Much appreciated. I need to respond to them all, but I'm usually checking them from work & my mobile is a biatch about it. rawr.

Saturday morning arrived with rain clouds and a note on the kitchen table from John. Bobby had some things he needed to pick up in town before heading back to South Dakota later in the week, the note read, so they would be gone for a couple of hours. 

Sam and Dean made breakfast together – Dean’s eggs turned out to be quite good – before moving out into the backyard. A sudden burst of rain sent them back into the house after half an hour, both damp and shivering as the air conditioning hit them.

Sam changed into a dry shirt and ducked into his brother’s room, watching as Dean pulled on a dry shirt of his own. “Should have just left that off,” he teased, crossing to stand in front of his brother. 

“Yeah?” Dean moved in closer, raised a hand to brush a lock of Sam’s hair away from his forehead, “You like to see me without my shirt?” 

“You know I do,” the younger teen murmured, tugging at Dean’s shirt and staring into his brother’s green eyes. “Dean..” his voice was little more than a whisper as his brother leaned in a bit closer; they were only inches apart now, sharing breath. 

His brother licked his lips, eyes falling to Sam’s mouth, and Sam was lost. He leaned in with a soft moan of the other’s name, pressed his mouth against his brother’s. Dean responded, slipped a hand into his hair to tug his head back slightly, slotting their mouths together. 

Sam gasped as Dean pressed him back against the wall, pinning him with his body. It was a position he definitely enjoyed – his brother could pin him any place and he would be just fine with it. The other possessed his mouth completely, licking into it and exploring it, and a low moan escaped him.

Sam’s eyes flew open as Dean disappeared suddenly: at the same time he heard an angry exclamation,

“What the hell?”

John was standing in front of him, one hand gripping the back of Dean’s shirt, other fist clenched. “What the hell are you doing to him?” the words were thrown at Dean, whom twisted away, pulling himself out of John’s grasp.

“Dad!” Sam pushed away from the wall as the man stalked toward Dean, whom had moved between him and their father. He knew without question that his brother was positioning himself to protect Sam. Panic touched him as he saw the anger in John’s eyes.

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?” their father demanded again, drawing closer. 

“Dad, no!” Sam shoved by his brother, stepped in front of him to shield him from John. Dean let out a low growl as John reached the youngest Winchester, and he tried to press forward, but Sam reached back and caught hold of his arm. Older brother halted at the unspoken command from younger, but Sam could feel the tension in the other. 

“Move, Sam!” John ordered as he reached them, “I knew getting him out was a mistake!”

He felt his brother flinch slightly at the words, and anger welled in him. “Dad! It was me!” He threw out a hand as John stepped still closer; the man stopped as Sam pushed against his chest, shoving him backward a step. “It was me,” he continued, “I instigated it. I wanted it.”

“What?”  
John stared at him like he had lost his mind.  
“I kissed him,” he told the man, “I instigated it.”  
“What the hell, Sam? Why the hell would you --?”  
Sam tightened his hold on Dean’s arm as his brother responded to John’s anger by trying to push by him, “Dean, no. He’s not going to hurt me.” His brother remained where he was, but he could feel the other shaking. Sam met his dad’s eyes as the man started,  
“If he’s making you say that –“

“He’s not!” exasperation touched his voice, “You’re not listening! He didn’t do it!”  
“Did,” Dean countered from behind him, pressing against his back and wrapping an arm around his chest, “My Sammy.” 

Sam saw anger cross John’s face again, and he raised his chin and met the man’s angry gaze. He was not about to let his father and his brother kill one another over a kiss. “I know you don’t understand, but I _am_ his.”

“He’s your fucking brother, Sam!” John shouted, running a hand through his hair and tugging at it in his anger, “And you, Dean, you go on about monsters all the time. What kind of monster are you to take advantage of your own brother?!”

Dean froze at the words; Sam heard his sharp exhalation, felt the tremor that ran through the young man. Sam glanced over his shoulder at his brother, found Dean staring at him, wide-eyed. The hurt, the fear that he _was_ a monster, that he _had_ taken advantage of Sam, was written all over his face, and it drew Sam’s own anger to the surface.

“How could you say that to him?” he demanded of his father, “That’s not it at all!”

“Then what the hell is it, Sam?”

“He’s my –“ He struggled for the right word, latched onto the one Castiel had used in the hospital months prior, “He’s my soulmate.” He reached up and grasped hold of his brother’s arm, which was still wrapped around his chest, “It’s – you couldn’t understand if I tried to explain it.”

“You’re confused,” John rubbed at his brow, “You’re both confused. Dean’s been in a hospital for years and you, you’re fascinated with him. You’re both confused, Sam. You’re brothers, even if you spent a decade apart.” Before either of his son’s could speak, he finished, “This will not happen again. Are we clear? No more bed-sharing, no more being in each other’s personal space all the time.” His eyes shifted to Dean, and anger etched his features again as he saw the oldest son’s arms still wrapped around the youngest. He pointed at the older of the pair and ordered, “You get your hands off him, and you don’t touch him again. If you do – “ 

“Dad..” Sam tried to interject, but fell silent as John’s angry gaze fell on him. 

“If you do,” their father continued, looking to Dean again, “I’ll have you thrown back in the hospital so fast, you won’t know what hit you.” 

Sam stared at his father for a moment, wide-eyed in shock. He heard Dean swallow hard behind him, felt the other’s arms tighten around him.

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Your. Brother.” John ground out between gritted teeth when Dean remained where he was.

Dean stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed in anger and fear. He dropped his eyes to Sam; after a moment, he reluctantly pulled away from the youngest Winchester. 

When John grabbed hold of Sam’s wrist and pulled him away, a sound that was close to a growl escaped his brother’s throat. “S’okay, Dean,” Sam assured, looking back at him and meeting his gaze, “It’s okay.” He saw Dean hesitate, could tell that the other wanted to move into John’s space in an attempt to protect Sam. The other stood still, however, when Sam shook his head.

He glanced back at Dean again as his father pulled him toward the door and out of his brother’s bedroom. The fear and misery and longing on Dean’s face almost had him pulling out of John’s grip to run back to the other; he allowed his father to guide him from the room, however, for fear that John would carry through with his promise to send Dean back to the hospital.

 

 _Man, you screwed that one up._  
Dean’s eyes shifted to the tall blond in the corner: he cringed at the pity on Lucifer’s face.  
“Shut up,” he muttered, eyes shifting back to the door Sam had just walked out. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenched into fists: he wanted to go after Sam, chase John down and take his brother back. He wanted to hold him again, feel him and kiss him and just hold him. He couldn’t risk losing Sam by going back into the hospital, though, not when he had just gotten him back after a lifetime of being apart.  
He looked to the room’s corner again as that voice taunted him,  
_You two and your codependency. It’s the stuff of legends, you know. Daddy dearest is right: you are a monster, taking advantage of little bitty Sammy like that._  
“Shut up! It’s not like that!”  
_Then what’s it like, Dean? Hmm?_  
The young man swallowed hard, eyes returning to the bedroom door. His voice was barely a breath in the room as he whispered, “We need each other. We – we’re supposed to be together again. I can’t – I can’t survive without him again.”  
His eyes shifted to Lucifer, whom was staring at him in silence. Dean wanted to punch the pity off his face, but the man was suddenly gone in a blink.

 

“Dad, calm down,” Sam tried to reason with the angry man, whom was pulling him toward the kitchen. 

“Calm down?” John turned to stare at him, incredulity tracing his voice, “Calm down, Sam? I just caught _my sons_ kissing _each other_ , and you want me to calm down?” 

“Just let me explain..”

“There is no explaining!” John released him and ran a hand through his hair, “You cannot _explain_! That – that will _not_ happen again!”

“You can’t send him back to the hospital,” Sam’s voice was a quiet plea, “You can’t. It will kill him, dad. It will kill _me_.”

The man stared at him for a long minute before telling him quietly, “Go to your room. No! No. I don’t want you that close to your brother right now. Go to _my_ room.”

Sam scowled and started, “Dad..”

“Now, Sam!”

 

If lunch was an awkward affair – and it was, in spite of the fact that Dean refused to leave his room and join them – dinner was more so. The two brothers sat on opposite sides of the table at John’s insistence. John and Bobby tried to have a normal conversation, but it was interrupted by John’s glares if Sam and Dean did more than glance at one another. 

They spent some time after dinner watching Netflix, sitting at opposite ends of the couch because Bobby was between them and their father was in an armchair nearby. When they were yawning more than watching the show and decided to head to bed, the man stopped them with a warning:

“You stay in your own rooms tonight, you understand me? If I catch you two sharing a bed again, I _will_ put locks on your damn doors.” 

Sam laid in his bed a short while later, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear Dean pacing his room, muttering to himself (or maybe to Lucifer), though he couldn’t make out the words. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, cursing beneath his breath. Today had been a nightmare, not being able to even sit next to Dean. He hadn’t missed the look on Dean’s face when they had separated outside of his room, the sadness and fear his brother had been trying to hide all day. He wanted, with everything in him, to go offer his brother comfort, even if it was a hug or lying next to him while Dean slept. It was taking everything within him to remain in his own room and not try to sneak into his brother’s. 

 

John was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a half-empty bottle of beer, when Bobby entered. The older man moved to the fridge and got a cold beer of his own, before joining his brother at the table. 

“How you doing?” Bobby asked, studying the other’s face. John looked weary, dark circles beneath his eyes. His brother shot him a wry smile and shrugged a shoulder, before responding, 

“I don’t even have an answer to that. That manual they don’t give you when you have kids? I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t cover something like this, either.”

Bobby nodded, turning his beer bottle in his hand to study the label. He raised his eyes to John as the other man sighed heavily and admitted,  
“I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t have the first clue about this one, Bobby. What the hell does a parent do in this kind of situation?”

Bobby was silent for a long moment: he was only half-joking as he suggested with raised brows, “Consult the internet?” 

John chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Might have to do that,” he answered, “because I’m lost here. What do you do when you catch your sons making out? Fuck.”

Bobby shook his head: he didn’t have an answer to that question, either.

 

Sunday was a repeat of Saturday, only with more silence. The brothers could barely sit next to one another without John sending glares in their direction. Sam didn’t miss the way his brother was biting at his bottom lip throughout the morning, or biting his fingernails. He offered what support he could with brushes of a hand against Dean’s arm as they passed one another, or soft smiles aimed at his brother. By lunch, though, the older teen had retreated to his bedroom and refused to come out. 

Sam was picking at a slice of bread on his sandwich around lunchtime, lost in thought, when John entered the kitchen. He raised his eyes to his father and, when the man glanced at him, asked,  
“Are you going to freak out every time I hug Dean?”

“Not if you don’t hug him,” the man retorted calmly as he retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge.

The teen frowned, eyes dropping back to his plate. He raised his gaze again, “Touch keeps him grounded, dad. It – it helps him stay focused on what’s real.”

“He’ll have to find another way, then,” John shot back, giving him an exasperated glance.

Sam glared at his sandwich, a thread of worry running through him. He didn’t particulary enjoy defying his father, but he had promised Dean that he wouldn’t be alone again. And he intended to keep that promise. 

 

The next couple of days went much the same as the weekend: John’s glares and the fear of Dean being sent off had the boys keeping a safe distance from one another. By Tuesday, Sam could see that it was affecting Dean. That thread of worry that had been running through him increased as he heard his brother muttering through the walls Tuesday night, and then woke Wednesday morning to find Dean’s protection symbols drawn on the outside of his brother’s door. 

When he cracked open Dean’s bedroom door Wednesday morning, he found that the older teen wasn’t in his bed. He scanned the room and found him sitting in the far corner, arms wrapped around his knees and green eyes locked on Sam. 

“Dean?” he pushed the door wide open and stepped into the room. It was obvious, to Sam at least, that the young man hadn’t had any sleep the previous night. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and several of his journals were lying on the floor around him. 

He reached his brother – Dean watched him in silence as he crossed the room – and knelt in front of him. “Dean?” Sam reached out to brush his fingers against Dean’s arm; the full-body shudder that ran through the young man had him leaning forward to pull Dean into his arms. 

“Dean,” he whispered, brow furrowing as he felt how his brother was shaking, “What’s wrong?” 

“Can’t remember which part is the dream,” came the almost-whispered response, “and what’s not.” 

“I’m not a dream,” he assured, leaning back to meet the other’s gaze, “I’m here, Dean. You’re here. You – “

Both boys started as they heard John’s voice suddenly,  
“Sam.”

Sam looked over his shoulder and found his father standing in the doorway, scowling in their direction. 

“Time for breakfast. You have to leave for school soon.”

“Dad..”

“ _Now,_ Sam.”

Sam shot the man an angry look, before turning back to Dean. “Not a dream, Dean,” he whispered, raising his hand to touch Dean’s face. He wanted to stay here with the other, but he didn’t want his father angry at Dean any more than he was.

As he stood and left the room, to follow his father down the hallway, he realized the truth of that thought: His father was angry with _Dean_ for what had happened. Oh, he was angry with Sam too, of course, but most of his anger and mistrust were directed at Dean. 

Sam glared at his father’s back as that realization sunk in deep.


	22. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to reason with Dean, but it kind of backfires when he loses his cool.  
> Dean has a session with Charlie; Sam & Bobby talk.

It was after noon when Dean made his way to the kitchen. He hesitated inside the kitchen doorway as his eyes fell on John, whom was sitting at the table. The man hadn’t a class to teach today, he recalled. John raised his blue gaze from his newspaper to look at him. He nodded an acknowledgement as his father greeted him.

Dean retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and turned to leave the kitchen, but paused as John spoke his name,  
“Dean.”

He glanced over at the man, and his father asked,  
“Dean, you do understand that you and Sam can’t – “ John hesitated for a moment, “That you can’t be together like – like _that_. In a romantic way. Right?”

Dean stared at him for a moment before saying quietly, “We belong together.”

He saw a muscle in his father’s jaw twitch, and John reminded him, “You’re brothers, Dean. You don’t have that kind of relationship with your brother.”

His brow furrowed slightly and he fidgeted with the bottle of water he held. “We – we’re –“ He searched for the words he needed to make John understand, “We’re soulmates.”

John ran a hand over his mouth and shook his head, before repeating his earlier words, “You’re _brothers_ , Dean. Please tell me you understand that.” 

“I know we’re brothers, John,” he shot back crossly, annoyance touching his voice.

“Then you know you can’t be together.”

Dean bit his bottom lip for a moment before muttering, “You don’t understand.”

“No,” John agreed, “I don’t understand. What I do understand is that you’re obsessed with Sam and he’s infatuated with the mystery of you.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Dean shifted in agitation, eyes flicking from John, to the far wall, to the floor, back to John, “Like it’s – like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It can’t mean anything!” he heard the anger tracing the man’s declaration.  
“Well it does!” he shot back, hand clenching around the water bottle he held still.

“No,” John shook his head as he shoved his chair back and stood, “You’re not thinking clearly, Dean, and neither is Sam. He’s young and you’re – “ The man fell silent abruptly, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“I’m crazy?” Dean questioned, “Is that what you were going to say? I might be, but I know how I feel, and Sam is everything to me.”

“Enough,” John’s voice was harsh, “That’s enough, Dean. I don’t want to hear anymore of this, and I don’t want you filling Sam’s head with it.”

“You think that’s what I’m doing? You think I’m corrupting him?”

“Just stop,” there was real anger on John’s face, “I meant what I said: you keep your hands off him and you don’t speak of this anymore. Any more of this nonsense and I _will_ send you back to that hospital!”

Dean swallowed hard at the threat, eyes troubled. “You – you can’t take Sam from me again. You can’t.”

“I can and I will,” the man warned as he crossed toward him, “You touch him again, and I certainly will.”

There was a note of desperation in Dean’s voice as he whispered, “But I love him.”

The man stared at him for a moment, features softening slightly, “You can’t, Dean,” he answered, “You can’t love him like that. It’s wrong.”

Dean was motionless for a moment: he shook his head suddenly, raised angry eyes to John. “No. It’s not. We’re supposed to be together!”

“You’re _supposed_ to be in the hospital!” John snapped, “Not here trying to commit incest with Sam!”

Dean paled at the words, an odd sensation that felt a great deal like pain clawing at his chest. His father saw his reaction and muttered a low-spoken curse.

“Dean,” John ran a hand over his face, “I didn’t mean that.”

Dean only blinked once at him, green eyes echoing the hurt that trying to climb up his throat. The young man turned and left the kitchen, the bottle of water slipping, forgotten, from his fingers and bouncing against the floor.

“Dean..” John dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling, “Damn.” He hadn’t meant to say that to his son – in his anger, the words had slipped out. He sighed and dropped his face in his hand, rubbing at his forehead; he raised his head as he heard the front door slam.

“Dean? Dean!” John raced through the house, to the front door, and jerked it open. He stepped out onto the front step, scouring the street for his oldest son. He searched both directions but Dean was nowhere to be seen. 

Where the hell had he gone, so quickly?

 

He was sitting at the kitchen table a while later, head in his hands, when he heard the sound of the Impala pulling into the garage. Several minutes later, he heard the utility room open and voices speaking: Bobby and Sam were home. 

The two entered the kitchen and glanced in his direction. “Hey dad,” his youngest son greeted. The smile left the teen’s face as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

John met the hazel gaze; Sam stared at him for a moment, before rushing out of the kitchen. He heard the teen calling his brother’s name, “Dean? Dean?”

“What happened?” Bobby asked in concern, moving to seat himself at the table.  
“I screwed up royally, that’s what,” he muttered in response. Before he could elaborate, Sam was in the kitchen again.

“Where is he?” the teen demanded, “Where’s Dean?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Where is he?”  
“I don’t know, Sam. He – he left.”  
Sam stared at him for several seconds, disbelief etching his young features, “He left? What’s that mean? He – no.” The boy shook his head, “What did you do to him, dad? He wouldn’t – he wouldn’t just leave. He wouldn’t leave me!”  
“Sam,” John reached out to touch his son’s arm, but Sam jerked away, “He’ll be back. He’s just – we had words and he’s upset.”

The look in Sam’s eyes was an accusation; his son ran from the room, into the utility room. They heard him jerk open the door, which slammed shut a moment later. 

John dropped his head in his arms with a groan. “How is it I’m the bad guy in all of this?” he asked Bobby, who had taken a seat next to him. He snorted in bemusement as Bobby replied,

“Noone said being a parent was fair.” 

 

Sam ran out of the garage and down the drive. He halted on the sidewalk, glancing up and down the street. He combed a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. His brother would be back. Dean would be back. Where had he gone? Dean wouldn’t leave him, even if John had said mean things to him. Would he? Where would he go?

He took several slow breaths before turning and going back into the house.

John and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, still, when Sam stormed into the room.  
“What did you say to him?” he demanded of his father.  
“Sam –“  
The teen shook his head and cut the man off, “Why are you blaming all of this on him, dad? _I_ started all of this! If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me!”

“He’s older, he should know better!” The look on John’s face following the words expressed how even he found that statement to be weak.

“How should he know better?” Sam demanded, “Did they teach him Relationships 101 in that hospital where you kept him locked up for twelve years?”

“Sam, enough.”

Sam ignored the warning in his father’s voice to continue, “If anyone should have known better, it’s me. _I_ kissed him, I want him, I would damn well do it again! But you’re putting it all on Dean. He’s the innocent one here, dad. If you’re going to place blame, put it where it belongs. Threatening to throw him back in the hospital for something that is my fault far more than his is just cruel.”

He met his father’s gaze for a long moment before shaking his head and finishing softly, “I thought you were better than that, dad.”

Before John could speak, Sam turned and left the room.

 

The sun was setting several hours later, and Sam was sitting on the front step. He was chewing his nails as he stared out at the street. Dean hadn’t yet returned – he had been gone for hours now – and Sam was worried. His father had come outside to check on him several times, but he refused to speak to the man. 

He dropped his head in his hands and fought down the ache inside him. What ifs were running through his head at a thousand miles an hour: What if Dean was lost? He wasn’t familiar with the area. What if he was hurt? What if he had decided he had had enough of a family that hadn’t shown him a hell of a lot of support in his life? What if he didn’t come back? He knew the thoughts were over-the-top, almost irrational, but they danced around in his head regardless.

Sam was lost in his own thoughts, and was startled when he heard,  
“Sam?”  
His head jerked up and he found his brother standing a short distance away, staring at him.  
“Dean,” he breathed the word as he shoved to his feet: moments later he was running at the man. Dean caught him as he ran into his arms, nearly toppling them both in the process. 

“Dean,” a sob escaped Sam as he threw his arms around his brother and hugged him tight, face buried against his neck, “I thought – Dean..”

“Sammy,” his brother hugged him tight, pressing his face against his hair, “Ssh, Sammy, I’m right here. Right here, sweetheart.” The man pulled back slightly to look at him, saw the emotions written on his face, “Did you think I wasn’t coming back? Sammy, baby, no. No. I couldn’t – No. Never, baby, sweetheart, never leave you.”

“I love you,” Sam whispered against the other’s neck, “I love you. Don’t care what anyone else says. I love you. I’ll leave with you, we’ll run away. Won’t let them keep us apart, Dean. Please don’t leave me, please don’t.”

Dean hauled him close to press a soft kiss on his forehead, “Never, baby boy. Not ever going to leave you.”

 

Thursday morning found Dean in a therapy session. 

“How are you today, Dean?”

Dean shot his new therapist a glance, and found the redhead’s eyes on him. He shrugged a shoulder, eyes flicking back to the window on the far wall. 

“Your dad mentioned an issue happening at home,” Charlie commented, glancing down at her notes. Her green eyes returned to him as he countered, 

“He’s not my dad. Not anymore.”

The redhead glanced at John before returning her eyes to him.  
“ _John_ said there’s an issue going on at home,” she rephrased, “Want to talk about that?”

“He’s pissed because I’m in love with Sammy,” the young man responded to his therapist, crossing his arms across his chest and ignoring Lucifer, whom was smirking at him from the corner. 

“You’re in – Your brother Sammy?”

“Yeah,” he locked his gaze on her, chin raised slightly in challenge, “That Sammy.”

Dean scowled and Charlie glanced at John as the man growled, “You’re _not_ in love with Sam, Dean.”

“I think I would know,” Dean shot back.  
He focused on Charlie again as he informed her, “John caught us kissing. Now he’s pissed. He won’t let us near each other, and he wants to send me back to the hospital.”

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ to – “

“Pretty obvious, John,” Dean shot him a side glance before looking away again, “You don’t – “ the young man swallowed, a brief moment of pain tracing his features, “You don’t want me there. Never did.”

Before John could respond, Charlie spoke up, “Okay, this is pretty big. Let’s just hang on a second. You were kissing your brother? Why?”

There was a defensive tone in Dean’s voice as he threw back, “Why do you normally kiss someone?”

“No,” Charlie shook her head and waved a hand, “Not _that_ why. Why Sam? What –“ she paused for a second, considering her words, “What’s drawn you to Sam?”

“He’s been in the hospital for 12 years,” John said, bordering sarcasm, “and he and Sam have been practically living in one another’s pockets the past couple of months.”

Charlie turned her gaze to John and stared at him for a moment. “You’ll get your turn,” she told him, head tilted, “Dean’s talking right now.”

John scowled at the subtle reprimand and slumped slightly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. After a second, he nodded in agreement.

“Go on, Dean. Why Sam?”

Dean was silent for a moment, eyes on the floor. “It’s – it’s complicated,” he admitted, raising his eyes to glance at his therapist. His gaze dropped to the floor again, “He’s – it’s not what John says it is. It’s not because .. not because Sam’s the only person I’m around or whatever he thinks. Sammy is – “ He swallowed and glanced toward the window, thinking. His voice was soft as he finally continued,

“Sammy is my soulmate. Even in the hospital, even when I hadn’t seen him for a whole lifetime, I knew that.”

The young man fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, thinking about his next words. “It’s not just – We’re _connected_. Not just by blood. We’re supposed to be. Like.. like two parts of one piece.” His expression was solemn as he raised his eyes to Charlie, “I would die for him. I would give _everything_ for him. I think I have, in another life.”

“A past life?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “Maybe. Yeah. It’s not – “ He glanced at John and hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “What I feel isn’t just a physical attraction. It goes way deeper, but I don’t know how to explain it. Plato – the philosopher?- said that, in Greek mythology, humans were created with four arms, four legs, and two faces. Zeus was afraid of their power, though, and split them into halves. They were left searching for their other half. That’s Sammy. He’s my other half.”

Dean glanced at John, to find the man staring at him.  
“You know Plato?” the man asked, surprise tracing his voice.  
Charlie snorted as he shot back, “Not personally, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His gaze returned to Charlie as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her desk. “Okay,” the redhead spoke, “Obviously, there are some big issues in all of this. Dean, Sam is your brother, and we all know how society views relationships with one’s own sibling. And of course John is going to have an issue with it, because you’re both his sons. I understand what you’re saying when you say Sam is your soulmate. I do.” She gave him a warm smile before continuing, “I believe that soulmates don’t always have to be your significant other. It can be a best friend or a brother or a sister.”

Dean nodded, and she continued, “In your case, he’s your soulmate _and_ you have feelings of the more romantic nature for him. Is that correct?”

Dean nodded again; he shifted uneasily in his chair as he saw, in his peripheral vision, John tense beside him. His green eyes met Charlie’s as she asked him,

“Can you have a relationship with him that isn’t romantic?”

“Yes.” His answer was immediate: he didn’t have to think twice about that. Any kind of relationship with Sam was better than being separated from him. 

“John, can you let them continue their relationship if it remains platonic?” 

There was a long minute of silence from the man. Dean stared at the floor, hands clasped tightly in his lap in a futile attempt to stop their shaking. Dread and fear were clawing at his insides as the man beside him considered Charlie’s question: he couldn’t bear to be separated from Sam again. He _couldn’t_. He turned a troubled gaze to John and pleaded softly,

“I’ll keep my hands off him. I won’t do anything, I swear. We’ll just be brothers. Please don’t take him from me again.”

John met his gaze for a moment, before closing his eyes and sighing. “Okay, Dean,” the man finally relented, “We’ll try it.”

Dean dropped his eyes back to the floor, an uneasy relief flooding him. He barely heard Charlie’s voice as she murmured, “We definitely have a lot to work on with you two.” 

 

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, reading out of his history book, when Bobby walked in. His uncle greeted him and crossed to the cabinet to pull out a coffee mug. The man poured himself a cup of coffee before joining Sam at the table.

“Didn’t have soccer practice today?

“Coach cancelled it, something about his daughter’s car breaking down and her new husband being useless with mechanics.” He smiled as Bobby snorted a laugh.

“Bobby..” 

“Yeah?” his uncle encouraged him to continued, “What’s up, kid?”

Sam hesitated, fiddling with a pencil lying on the table. “I know that -- Dean and I – I know it’s supposed to be wrong because we’re brothers. You probably think –“ He swallowed, eyes dropping to the table briefly, “I know dad thinks it’s sick, you probably do, too. It – doesn’t feel wrong, though.” He hesitated, raising his eyes to the man, and found his uncle’s attention on him, listening, “It’s not just a crush or something, like dad thinks. It’s not. It’s like, like something clicked when I met Dean that first time.” He twirled the pencil on the table and watched it spin for a moment, a soft sigh escaping him.

“Sam,” Bobby watched the pencil with him, before raising his eyes to look at him, “You’re young, still. You’re going to fall in and out of love a dozen times in your life. What you’re feeling for Dean is strong, and it feels real, but your dad’s right: he’s your brother. It can’t work.”

“It _is_ real,” Sam insisted softly. “When I look at him, my heart feels like it’s trying to climb out of me to be with his heart, Bobby. I can’t breathe when he’s sad, and when he’s happy I feel like my whole .. just.. everything in me.. is lighting up.” He swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden tears in his eyes, “I don’t know why it’s him, but it is. I would be perfectly happy as just brothers, but I know there’s so much more there. I think just his smile could get me through a bad day, you know? Castiel called us soulmates, and I think he was right.” He bit his lip and raised his eyes to his uncle again, suddenly nervous about the other’s response. To his surprise, Bobby was staring at him with tears in his own eyes. 

“Shit, Sam,” the older man muttered gruffly as he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, “You’re just 15. You’re not supposed to feel that kind of love until you’re older, and not with your brother. But – “ the man paused for a moment, staring at the table, “- you just described how I felt about your aunt Karen, God rest her soul, from the moment I met her until the day she left this world.”

The teen swallowed hard, clenching his hands on the table in front of him. “If dad sends him back to the hospital,” his voice was almost a whisper, “it will kill him. And me. I promised him I would keep him safe. I told him he wouldn’t ever go back there again, Bobby. He trusts me, and.. _damnit_. I screwed everything up. I knew dad would freak if he caught us, but I just – Dean is the most important thing in the whole world to me, you know?“ He ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a frustrated breath, “And I didn’t think dad would put it all on him, not when I’m the one who should be held accountable. Damnit, I _love_ him. If dad sends him back, he’s going to have to send me with him. I won’t let Dean go back there alone. I won’t.” 

His uncle reached over to grab his hand, squeezing it lightly, “We’ll figure something out, Sam. If it comes down to it, Dean can come and stay with me in Sioux Falls. It’ll be okay.” 

The two glanced toward the utility room, which lead out to the garage, as they heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the garage. When Dean entered the kitchen several minutes later, it took every single bit of Sam’s willpower to resist jumping to his feet and throwing his arms around his brother. Instead, he shot him a warm smile. Dean returned it and took a chair at the table near him, reaching for his history book to see what he was reading.

Sam watched his brother read the open page in front of him, and everything in him screamed that Dean was too far away, even though they were sitting next to one another. He wrestled down the urge to scoot his chair closer so that their knees were touching when John entered the kitchen.

Sam met his brother’s green gaze, and read in his eyes everything the other couldn’t say aloud. Dean dropped his gaze a moment later and asked, “What are you studying?” 

Sam leaned in a bit closer to discuss history with the older teen. If this was all he could have with his brother, at least while they were under his father’s roof, he would take it.


	23. 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel to the rescue.  
> Charlie puts John in his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of this chapter (the John & Charlie scene) was inspired by some missing elements in the previous chapter, pointed out to me by wtgw. Thanks for reminding me that I overlooked a whole bunch of stuff in that previous therapy scene! ^_^
> 
> You're all dears, & I <3 you all. Thanks for the continued encouragement & kind words. xoxo.

“What are you going to do?” 

Sam glanced at Jessica as the girl asked the question – she was sitting in the bleachers, watching the soccer team practice. Sam and Gabriel were sitting next to her, taking advantage of the 15 minute break their coach had given them before going back to drills.

Sam had filled his friends in on the past week: everything that had happened, the way John watched them constantly, how he hadn’t been able to so much as lay a hand on Dean’s arm, without receiving a glare, in days. 

“I don’t know,” he screwed the cap off his water bottle, then screwed it back on, then removed it again, “Dad brings his class work home with him now, so he’s there before I get home from soccer practice. He doesn’t want me and Dean alone in a room together, hell we can barely be in the same room even if he and Bobby are there.” He frowned as he twisted the cap back on the bottle again, “It’s – I think it’s starting to get to Dean. I hear him in his room at night, talking to himself - or Lucifier probably, that guy’s a real asshole, from what I can tell – and he hasn’t been sleeping, or eating, or –“ Sam slung the lid, which he had twisted off the water bottle again, away from him suddenly, “Shit., guys, I don’t know what to do. I can’t even touch him to let him know he’s not stuck in some nightmare or something, because dad freaks the hell out.”

Sam raised his eyes to Jessica as the girl laid a hand on his shoulder and asked softly, “What can we do to help?” 

“Maybe there’s a way we can distract your dad,” Gabriel offered, “so you can spend some time with Dean.”

“How are we going to do that?” Jess asked, tilting her head to look at him.

“Uh..” Gabriel scratched his head, a frown on his face, “Set the Impala on fire? I don’t know! There has to be something, though, right?”

Sam huffed a soft laugh and shook his head, “Let’s not set the Impala on fire. I like that car. Dean _loves_ that car.”

“Maybe we can unhook the battery cables while your dad is on campus,” Gabe grinned, “We all know how bad he sucks with cars, it would take him forever to figure out why it won’t start.”

Sam raised a brow and opened his mouth to protest, but paused: that might actually work. He shook his head – it was a crazy idea. Still, desperate times and all..

He and Gabe jumped, startled, as they heard their coach shout, “Sam! Gabe! You boys done napping? Let’s go!”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Jess told them, standing to gather her stuff, “I have to go study for that biology test tomorrow.”

They waved goodbye as they jogged onto the field, ready for more of their coach’s endless drills.

It was Sam’s luck that he received a text just before practice ended, from his father, stating that the man had to stay late on campus tonight. Bobby had left earlier, he knew, to meet a “lady friend” for an early dinner and a movie. That meant he was going to have time with his brother before his father made it home (or so he hoped). He would have a chance to give Dean the much-needed touch that helped to ground his brother and remind him that he wasn’t caught up in some kind of dream, as Lucifer liked to tell him.

He was silently rejoicing that fact when his coach decided that, because he hadn’t been focused in practice (and he certainly hadn’t), he could stay late for an extra half-hour of drills.

“Damn,” Sam muttered as he bent to tie his cleat, “Dad and Bobby are gone and I’m stuck here. And Dean’s been alone all day. I hope he’s okay.” He raised eyes to his best friend as Gabriel asked,  
“Want me to run by and check on him?”  
“Would you? Man, you’re the best, Gabe.”  
“I know, I know. Uh.. he’s not going to bite me, is he?”  
Sam shot his friend a grin as he jogged back onto the field, calling over his shoulder, “No promises!”

 

Gabriel dropped his bike on the front lawn and entered the Winchester house, using his copy of the key Sam had given him last summer. After a moment of hesitation, he made his way through the house and into the kitchen. It was empty, so he headed toward the bedrooms. He heard muttering, a low-pitched voice, as he moved up the hall, toward Sam’s room: he halted at the bedroom before Sam’s and peered into the open door.

Dean was inside, pacing the room and muttering to himself. He seemed agitated, hands alternating between rubbing together and rubbing his arms. It took Gabriel a moment to realise that he wasn’t _rubbing_ his arms, he was _scratching_ them. 

“Dean?” he stepped across the threshold, into the bedroom, as he spoke the older teen’s name. 

Sam’s brother cast a glance in his direction, slowed for a moment, then resumed his pacing. Gabriel didn’t miss the glances he kept throwing toward the room’s corner; after a moment, he realized that Dean was, seemingly, talking to someone in that part of the room. 

He watched as Dean turned suddenly, stared at the wall behind him, before muttering, “This is real. I don’t know. I don’t know.” He began pacing again, “Don’t want to be there again.”

“Dean?” Gabriel repeated the other’s name as he cautiously moved toward the young man, “You okay, buddy?” He fought down his trepidition to approach Dean; as he drew closer, he saw that the other was shaking, eyes darting around the room as if trying to find something on which to focus. He halted as Gabriel drew near, bright green gaze locking on him.

“You okay?” he asked softly, hands raised slightly in front of him to show that he was empty-handed. 

“Can’t –“ Dean muttered, glancing around the room, then at him, then around the room again. After a moment, the green eyes locked on him, and Dean raised a shaking hand toward him. He drew it away suddenly, brought it to his mouth to chew a thumbnail, eyes on the far wall. 

“Dean, it’s okay.” Gabriel tried to sooth. Seeing the other in this state tugged at something inside him, made him want to offer the other some sort of comfort. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and typed out a quick message, _He’s kind of freaking out, doing what I can_. He sent it to Sam and shoved the phone back in his pocket. His eyes shifted back to Dean as he said, “Sam says you use touch to, uh, ground yourself, right?”

Dean’s eyes locked on him at the mention of Sam’s name.  
“Sam?” the young man glanced toward the doorway, into the hall; his brow furrowed as he found only empty space. 

“Look,” Gabriel stretched a hand toward Dean slowly, moves cautious; last thing he wanted to do was to startle the other, “You can touch me, if it will help.” He saw the hesitation in Dean’s face, the uncertainty, and he stepped closer, hand out and palm up. After several moments, Dean raised a shaking hand. The other brushed his fingertips against Gabe’s, pulled away, reached toward him again. His fingers touched Gabriel’s palm and, after a moment, brushed up along his wrist and arm. 

Gabriel saw the relief trace Dean’s features, and he tried to sooth, “See? Really here. This is all real.” 

Dean’s eyes shifted suddenly to the corner, near the closet; he pulled back suddenly and wrapped his arms around himself. “Shut up,” the young man muttered toward the closet, “Shut up shut up.” Gabriel winced as he watched the other scratch long, red, furrows down his arms. He took a breath, then stepped close to catch the young man’s hands in his own. 

Dean’s eyes widened and he tried to pull back, but Gabriel held firm. “Easy,” he tried to calm the other, “It’s okay, Dean. Sam sent me to check on you. It’s okay.”

“Sam sent you?”

“Yeah,” Gabe nodded, “He’ll be here soon, okay? He wanted me to hang out with you until he gets here. That okay?”

Dean bit his bottom lip for a moment before nodding shakily. 

 

“Dean!”  
The front door had barely shut behind Sam, when he called his brother’s name. He had jumped on his bike and rushed straight home after receiving Gabe’s text. 

“In here, Sam,” Gabriel’s voice called back, from the direction of the bedrooms.

He rushed through the house and to his brother’s room. When he stepped inside, he found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, and Gabriel crouched on the floor near him. Dean’s fingers were grasping the sleeve of Gabe’s t-shirt, and he was chewing the thumbnail of his free hand. 

Sam halted upon seeing his brother: Dean looked a wreck, even from across the room. His arms were covered in long, red, angry-looking scratches, and he had several on his face. His bottom lip was cut, blood trickling a path down to his chin. He was pale and he looked so upset that Sam wanted to wrap him in his arms and never let him go.

“Dean,” he spoke his brother’s name softly, and Dean’s head shot up.  
“S – Sammy?” the tremble in that deep voice had Sam crossing the room toward his brother. Dean lunged to his feet as he reached him and threw his arms around him.  
“Sam,” the name was a sob on his brother’s lips as Dean buried his face against Sam’s neck, clinging to him. He hugged his brother tight, felt the other’s hands scrabbling at his back, as if trying to pull him closer. 

“Ssh,” he pressed soft kisses against the distraught man’s hair, “I’m here. I’m here now, Dean.” 

It took several minutes for the violent trembling that was wracking his brother’s body to ease. Once he had calmed a bit, Sam’s eyes shifted to Gabriel, whom was sitting on the floor, watching them.

“Thanks, Gabe,” he whispered to his best friend, “for staying with him. For – thank you.” Gabe nodded, toyed with the cuff of his pant leg for a moment before saying, “Couldn’t leave him alone like he was. Didn’t seem right.” His brow creased in a frown as he added softly, “I tried to get him to let me clean that blood off him but he wouldn’t let me. He was – shit, Sam. Couldn’t leave him alone like that.” 

The three were sitting on Dean’s bed a short while later. Sam had cleaned his brother up and calmed him down, and now Dean was pressed against his side, face buried against his neck and hands clutching his shirt. Sam’s arm was around him to hold him close. Gabe sat next to Sam, reading through one of Dean’s journals, which Dean had permitted. 

Sam glanced at his best friend as Gabe looked at him suddenly and said, “You gotta talk to your dad, Sam. He can’t – shit, has he seen Dean like that? He wouldn’t not let you help him when he gets like that, would he?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment, “I’m pretty sure he saw him like this, maybe even worse, when he was in the hospital. I’ve tried talking to him but he can’t get over catching me kissing Dean.”

“My fault,” Dean muttered against his neck, “Couldn’t keep my hands to myself.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam reprimanded gently, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair, “It wasn’t your fault at all. No thinking that, okay? Don’t you blame yourself, Dean.”

“Okay,” his brother murmured, shifting his head slightly so he could look up at Sam without removing his head from Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam smiled down at him; his heart crashed against his ribs, trying to start its own parade, when Dean gave him a soft, sweet smile in return. 

He looked at Gabe as his best friend mumbled suddenly, “Holy shit, Sam, the way he looks at you. I feel like I’m interrupting some really personal moment here.”

Sam smiled, a blush crawling up his cheeks, and leaned his head against Dean’s. He grinned and Gabe burst into laughter as Dean stared at them for a moment before saying, “You two done with your chick-flick moment?”

“Nope,” he chuckled and kissed his older brother’s forehead, “Just getting started.”

 

John Winchester’s day was rapidly deteriorating. He had intended to go home after his last class ended and catch up on some papers he needed to grade (and, admittedly, keep an eye on his sons). Instead, he was sitting in the waiting area of his son’s therapist’s office.

Charlie Bradbury had called him right around the time he had sat down for lunch with a fellow professor, and informed him that she needed to see him as soon as possible.

John picked up a _Psychology Today_ magazine and flipped through it as he waited. He was three paragraphs into an article about the schizophrenic mind (one he found rather interesting, given his situation with Dean), when he heard his name. He raised his head and found Charlie standing in the open door of her office.

“Come on in,” the redhead told him, “You can keep the magazine, I have another copy.”

John raised a brow but nodded, rolling the magazine up and sticking it in his jacket pocket as he stood. He entered the office and took a seat as Charlie closed the door.

“You needed to see me, Ms. Bradbury?”

“Ugh, Charlie,” the redhead wrinkled her nose, “Ms. Bradbury is way too formal for me. Yes, I need to see you. We need to talk.” 

“About?” John asked as he watched the woman move around her desk to sit down. Green eyes met his and she stared at him for several long moments. He blinked at her as she asked suddenly,

“Do you want your son to get better, John?” 

“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”

“What kind of punishment is threatening to send him back to that hospital?” the redhead retorted, crossing her arms across her chest. 

John fell silent, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “I had just caught him and Sam..” He shook his head, “I guess I freaked out.”

“You guess you freaked out,” the woman repeated, that steady (and somewhat unnerving) green gaze locked on him, “Well, I guess you did, too. You cannot expect positive results if you’re terrifying that poor boy like that.” 

John frowned and started to speak, but Charlie raised a hand, indicating that she wasn’t finished. 

“Here’s the thing, John. Dean is at a point where he’s trying to become accustomed to an entirely new world. He spent most of his life in a hospital, and now he’s in a real home, with a real family. He’s going to need time to adjust, and he needs a strong support system. Threatening to throw him back in the hospital because you don’t like the way he behaves does not show him that he has that support system.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” John muttered, guilt and anger and frustration rising up in him at the woman’s words.

“You have to do better,” Charlie insisted, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk, “Is it going to be easy? No. Is it fair? No. But if you want Dean to find some semblance of wellness, you’re going to have to do better. He’s not acting out to rebel or piss you off, John. He’s mentally ill. If you think you’re struggling with all of this, imagine how he feels. He’s terrified he’s going to be sent back to Aurora, and he’s terrified of you.”

“He – “ John started but fell silent, brows furrowed. He knew Dean wasn’t comfortable with him, but terrified of him? He swallowed as he recalled the times Dean had told him _’Don’t touch me’_ or had avoided his gaze or his presence, “I don’t – I don’t want him to be afraid of me.”

“He’s going to be as long as you’re threatening punishment like that hospital. Is it okay that he kissed Sam? No, of course it’s not. But it’s not okay to make those threats against him, either. That’s bordering abusive, and it’s going to hinder any progress Dean makes toward getting well. If that type of behavior toward him continues, I will be obligated to report it.”

John stared at her for a moment, stunned. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” he asked finally, his frustration lacing his voice, “I don’t –“ He ran a hand over his face, eyes closed, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to help him. I want him to get better, I want that more than you know.” He sighed and met her gaze again, “I’m lost in all of this. The only one who seems to have any idea of what the hell to do is my 15 year old.”

“I understand that,” Charlie said softly, “I do, John. But if you want Dean to make any progress, you have to work on this. You cannot make threats about sending him away; you cannot treat him like he’s a lunatic; and, as much as it might upset you, you cannot take his only real support system from him.”

“Sam.”

She nodded and agreed, “Sam. I understand completely your reluctance about letting them spend time together, but you said yourself that Sam is the one person he trusts, and apparently the only one who knows how to interact with Dean in a reasonable manner.”

“Not sure that’s quite what I said,” the man grumbled, causing Charlie to smile. The smile disappeared a moment later, however, and she continued,

“You may have legal guardianship over Dean’s care, but he needs to have his own sessions, without you present. He doesn’t feel safe enough to open up with you sitting right beside him, glaring at him the entire time. I would recommend that you set up some sessions of your own, also. I think they would benefit you.”

John was silent for a moment, before finally nodding and agreeing quietly, “Alright. You’re right. I’ll do better.”

“Good,” Charlie shot him a brief smile, “Dean needs help to get well, so don’t let your fears keep you from being there for him. Okay?”

 

The therapist had certainly given him a lot to think about. John thought about it all the way home. He was thinking about it as he went into the house. He was thinking about it as he moved down the hall, toward the bedrooms (because he just knew his boys would be in one of them). He was feeling guilty for his behavior toward Dean when he reached his oldest son’s bedroom door.

John looked into the open door and spotted his sons and Sam’s best friend, sitting on the bed. Dean was clinging to Sam, head resting against his shoulder, and Sam and Gabriel were talking in the middle of a discussion about comic books.

“Hey boys,” he greeted, stepping more clearly into view. He didn’t miss the way Dean – and even Sam – tensed upon seeing him, and that observation brought with it an unpleasant feeling. He watched as Dean shot him a nervous glance and tried to shift away from Sam. Sam slipped an arm around him, holding him to him, and Dean blinked up at his brother for a moment before relaxing in his embrace. 

Gabriel slid off the bed to stand and stretch, before telling the brothers, “I’ll see you guys later. See you at school tomorrow, Sam.” The teen crossed the room – John raised a brow at the glare Gabe threw in his direction – and pushed by him to walk out the door.

He turned his attention back to Dean and Sam, and studied them for a long moment. Dean was staring at him from the corner of his eyes, hand clutching at Sam’s shirt like it was a lifeline. The older teen was biting at his lip; he stopped as Sam raised a hand to brush it against his cheek and instructed softly, “Stop that.” John saw the long, red scratches that covered his oldest son’s arms, and his brow furrowed in concern. His eyes shifted to Sam, whom was watching him warily.

“You boys okay?” he asked finally. Sam nodded yes, and he said, “Good. Hungry? Thought I might have a couple of pizzas delivered.” 

“Sounds good, dad,” Sam shot him a small smile, though he still looked as if he was prepared to grab his older brother and run with him.

John hesitated for a moment before coming to a decision, “Okay. I’ll come and get you guys when it gets here.” He saw both boys relax slightly –the relief on Dean’s face was almost like a kick in the gut – and he turned and left the room.

Charlie was right. He needed to do better.


	24. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise date. & then an even bigger surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not real sure I'm happy with how this chapter turned out. >_>  
> Seems a bit ..all over the place. We'll blame my wonky attention span for that. ahem.  
> & sorry for the foreverness with posting! Holidays & such, been out of town.

Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, at John’s insistence, picking at a meal he didn’t particularly want to eat. Not that he thought John was trying to poison him (not exactly), he just didn’t have much of an appetite. 

His green gaze flicked to John as the man told him from his spot near the counter,  
“You have to eat something, Dean.” 

_Yeah, Dean. Listen to daddy dearest._

Dean ignored Lucifer, whom was standing next to John, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the counter. He ignored John, too, for that matter, staring at the plate in front of him and the food he didn’t want to eat.

He raised his head and John glanced toward the living room as they heard a knock on the door. Moments later, a girl’s voice called,  
“Don’t get up! Just me!”

Half a minute later, Jessica was entering the kitchen.  
“Hi, John!” the girl greeted cheerfully, “Hi, Dean!” Her eyes fell on Dean as she asked, “Ready for our date?”

Dean raised a brow; before he could speak, John asked,  
“Date?”

“Mmhmm,” Jess nodded and crossed to stand next to Dean, “We figured we, you know, might try the going out thing, since we see so much of each other anyway.” She blushed and rolled her eyes and John stared at her.

“Well,” the older man ran a hand through his hair, “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Neither was Dean.

“Yeah, it’ll probably be a horrible idea because, you know, Sam’s my best friend and Dean’s my best friend’s brother and who dates their best friend’s brother, right? But ..” She shrugged, blushing again as John chuckled.

Dean felt a flush touch his own cheeks as Jessica turned her smile on him. She glanced back at John as she asked, “So it’s cool if we go to the park down the street for a while? I know you’re not really fond of public places yet, Dean, so I figured the park might work. There aren’t many people there this time of day.” 

“Sure,” John agreed with another chuckle, “Enjoy yourselves. Call me if –“ his eyes shifted to Dean, then back to Jess, “-if you need anything.” 

Dean rose from his chair as Jess caught his hand and tugged him to his feet. He nodded to John, another flush touching his cheeks, as the man called, “Have a good time, Dean.”

 

Three minutes later, Dean and Jess were walking down the sidewalk, away from the Winchester house. He turned his green gaze to her and asked, puzzled,  
“We have a date?”

“Sorry,” the girl grinned at him suddenly, “I know you weren’t ready for that. Gabe’s idea, so you and Sam could see each other without your dad breathing down your necks. He and Sam skipped soccer practice, they’re waiting at the park.”

Dean stared at the girl for a moment, before a grin touched his features. 

When they entered the small park ten minutes later, Sam and Gabe were sitting on the swings of a swingset. Sam jumped off his upon spotting them and crossed the ground toward them; he threw himself at Dean and nearly knocked the older teen over when he reached them. 

Dean grinned down at his brother, whom grinned back before pressing a kiss against his mouth.  
“Miss you, Sammy,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against Sam’s cheek. He missed holding his brother, touching him, being near him. John’s insistence that they keep “appropriate distance” between them now was driving him mad. 

“Miss you too, Dean,” the younger teen tugged him toward a small copse of trees in the middle of the park. Dean followed willingly; when Sam sat down and tugged at his hand, he was happy to seat himself on the ground next to him. Minutes later, they were stretched out on the ground, shaded by the trees and looking up at the clouds. Dean smiled at Sam and wrapped an around around him as his brother scooted closer, pressing against his side. This was what he missed the most; this closeness. Being able to pet Sam’s hair, or touch his face, or entwine their fingers together to hold hands. 

The brief two hours they had before Sam and Gabriel had to leave, to make it appear as if they were returning from soccer practice, wasn’t nearly long enough for Dean. Still, he would take what time he could get with Sam, out from beneath the watchful (and glaring) eye of John.

Dean followed when Sam reluctantly climbed to his feet, when it was time for him to leave. He watched as Sam moved to retrieve his backpack from a nearby bench; as Gabriel passed him, he asked suddenly,  
“What are you?”

Gabriel blinked in surprise at the abrupt question, “What?”

“Are you an angel?”  
The younger teen grinned and replied, “My mom likes to think so.”  
Dean stared at him, head tilted as he contemplated the other.  
“Oh,” Gabe blinked again as he caught on to what Dean was asking, “ _Ooh!_ You mean like .. an angel, angel? A .. real one?”

“Thought you were a trickster,” Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, eyes flicking to Sam as his brother approached them, “Not sure now, though.” 

“No,” Gabe shook his head, “Pretty certain I’m not an angel. I’m just me.”

He stared at the younger teen for a moment, before responding with a noncommittal ‘hmm’. His eyes shifted to Sam as his brother reached him. Sam’s fingers caught hold of his shirt and tugged at it as the younger teen told him,  
“We have to go, or dad will know I skipped practice. I’ll see you at home.”

Dean nodded; he sighed softly against his brother’s mouth as Sam’s lips brushed his own. He opened his eyes and met Sam’s gaze as fingers caressed his cheek, and Sam told him,  
“Love you, Dean.”

“Love you, too, Sammy. More than anything.”

His brother’s happy smile was like sunlight shining through shadows for him. Dean stared at the younger teen for a moment, breath catching at the other’s beauty; he swallowed as Sam squeezed his hand before releasing it and heading for the park’s entrance with Gabriel.

He wanted to chase after the other and beg him to stay with him.

Dean’s eyes flicked to Jess as the blonde moved to stand beside him and spoke,  
“You’ll see him at home tonight, Dean. Okay?”  
He nodded again, eyes returning to his departing brother. After a moment he agreed, voice a whisper,  
“Okay.”

 

Dean and Jess made it back to the Winchester home half an hour after Sam’s usual return from soccer practice. They were standing at the front door – Jess was turning to head down the walk toward her own home, two blocks over – when Dean spoke her name,  
“Jessica.”  
The girl turned her eyes to him, and he told her, voice sincere,  
“Thanks. For – today. Thank you.”  
“Anytime,” a smile lit up her pretty features, “Sam’s my best friend, and you make him happy. Whatever makes him happy makes me happy. I’ll see you later. Maybe we’ll have another date.” She winked at him before jumping off the steps and bouncing down the walk. Dean stared after her; he realized as he watched her depart that he was happy Sam had people like her and Gabriel looking out for him.

He entered the kitchen several minutes later, and found Sam and John standing at the counter. He didn’t even think twice as he crossed the room to his brother: Sam smiled as Dean reached him, arms slipping around him as he pulled the younger teen into a hug, face pressed against his neck.

“Dean.”

Dean raised his head at the warning in John’s voice, eyes shifting to the man. He averted his gaze as he reluctantly pulled back from his brother; Sam frowned, held him for a brief moment longer, before letting him go.

“How was your date?” John asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Fine,” Dean shot a glance in Sam’s direction – his brother winked at him – before glancing at John, “It was .. good.” 

“Good,” the man smiled at him and turned back to the vegetables he was prepping for dinner, “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Dean cast another glance at Sam, and the younger teen shot him a mischevious smile before slowly licking his lips. He closed his eyes and shook his head, causing his brother to laugh softly. If he stayed in this room with the other for a moment longer, with Sam throwing teasing, heated looks in his direction, he was going to pounce him.

“Going to draw,” he muttered with an amused smirk as Sam wiggled his brows at him playfully. The younger teen was grinning after him as he turned and left the kitchen.

 

After dinner (which his brother actually ate, Sam was pleased to see), Sam dragged Dean into the living room to watch a movie. He was only slightly annoyed when his father joined them two minutes later, taking a seat in a chair near the couch. He knew the odds that his father was going to allow them to spend very much time alone together were slim to none, and he hated it. At least Bobby wasn’t sitting between them this time.

They chose a movie before Sam sent Dean to one of the living room’s windows to close the blinds. He moved to the other to close those; he had just finished when he saw his brother do a double-take, eyes on something outside the window. 

“The hell is he doing here,” Sam heard his brother mutter darkly. He moved to join the other at the window and peered outside, but didn’t see anyone.

“Who?” he asked, peering up and down the street.

“Doctor Murphy,” Dean’s voice was practically a growl, and Sam’s eyes shifted to him.

“I don’t see anyone,” he admitted. 

His brother frowned and glanced back out the window. “He’s gone now, but he was out there.”

Sam glanced out the window again and muttered, “That’s – just creepy. If he’s out there some place, then your old doctor is kind of a stalker, Dean.”

“You’re telling me.”

 

They had finished “Evil Dead” and was halfway through “Army of Darkness” when John stood and stretched. 

“I’m going to bed,” the man told them, stifling a yawn, “You two –“ he paused for a moment, eyes falling on them, “You two get some sleep at some point. And behave yourselves.” 

John crossed to the end of the couch and poked Bobby, whom had fallen asleep an hour ago, on the shoulder. Sam snickered as the older man jerked his head up from its resting spot against the back of the couch cushions with a startled, “Wha--?” 

“Go to bed, old man,” John smirked at him, “It’s midnight, you’re going to turn into a pumpkin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby grumbled, pushing himself to his feet, “Night, boys. Night, ass.” He headed for the his bedroom, grinning in amusement as John rolled his eyes and muttered,  
“You’re the ass.”

When their father had left the room for his own bedroom, Sam slid across the couch to press against Dean’s side. He sighed in contentment as the older teen slipped an arm around him, tugging him close, and rested his head against Dean’s shoulder.

 

The following day was Saturday, which meant Sam didn’t have school, so the brothers started on a third movie after “Army of Darkness” ended. Sam decided popcorn was in order halfway through the third movie, and dragged Dean into the kitchen to make it.

Sam led the way into the living room once the popcorn was ready, laughing at Dean’s muttered curses regarding “the demon microwave”. He froze, grin leaving his face, as he saw someone standing in the middle of the living room. Dean spotted the person at the same moment: his brother went rigid and growled, “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Come to take you back to the hospital, Dean,” Doctor Jim Murphy, Dean’s psychiatrist, told him. The man had a pleasant smile on his face but there was something beneath it, something in the man’s eyes, which made Sam’s skin crawl. 

Sam glanced at his brother as Dean told him, voice pitched low, “Go to my room, Sam.”

Their gazes locked on the psychiatrist again as the man laughed and shook his head, “Oh, no. Stay right there, Sam.”

Dean moved between the man and Sam as Doctor Murphey’s eyes landed on the younger teen. “You stay the hell away from my brother,” the young man warned, fists clenching at his sides, “or I _will_ end you.”

The boys and the psychiatrist looked over as John entered the living room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on in here?” the man asked; he froze as he raised his head and spotted the doctor.

“Doctor Murphy? What are you doing here? It’s 3 in the damn morning.” 

“I told you not to sign him out, John,” the psychiatrist shook his head, “I told you he wasn’t ready.” 

“What?” John shook his head in disbelief, “Are you kidding? If you want to discuss Dean’s treatment, we’ll do it during daylight hours. I would appreciate it if you got the hell out of my house now so we can go back to bed.”

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Doctor Murphy ignored John and paced the living room, his eyes shifting back to Dean, “You should have just stayed in the hospital with the other freaks, where you belonged.”

“What the hell?” anger traced John’s voice, “You don’t talk to my son like that!” 

John froze, and a soft gasp escaped Sam, as the psychiatrist’s eyes abruptly flashed solid black. Doctor Murphy smirked at John and raised a hand, and John was thrown back suddenly against the wall. 

“What – the hell’s - going on?” their father demanded through gritted teeth as he struggled to pull away from the wall, to no avail.

“Told you he was a demon,” Dean responded, voice a growl and his green gaze locked on the doctor. 

“I spent all those years trying to keep you in that hospital, after realising you were aware of our existence. My plan was to do away with you. I even brought in those wretched monsters. They wouldn’t touch you, however; they were _afraid_ of you. Then your father, here, decided he was going to listen to little boy blue over there and sign you out.” 

“Go to my room, Sam,” Dean repeated, “The wards will keep him out.”

Sam moved to obey instinctively; he found himself slammed against the wall a second later, the bowl of popcorn he had been holding hitting the floor and scattering.

“No!” Dean shouted, “You leave him alone!”

The psychiatrist laughed at the demand; he moved toward Dean but staggered to a halt suddenly, as if walking into an invisible wall. At the same moment, whatever power holding Sam and John in place fell away, freeing them both. Doctor Murphy tried to back away but it was as if he was rooted to the floor.

“What -?” the man began.

Dean walked to an end table and picked up a small, hand-size black light. He flicked it on and shone it in the demon’s direction: the light revealed the painted devil’s trap on the floor. There were three more in the room: one near the window and one near the front door, as well as one on the ceiling. 

Dean had, at some point unbeknownst to Sam and John, painted them there with the black light paint he had found in Sam's room, weeks before. 

“You think I was gonna leave my family unprotected?” the young man threw out at the man-demon.

“You can’t hold me here forever, Dean,” Doctor Murphy growled.

Sam approached his brother, eyes on the demon, and asked, “What about the exorcisms? In your journals?” His eyes narrowed as the demon practically growled at him, and he finished, “Will those get rid of him?” 

Sam glanced over at Dean and found his brother staring at him in admiration. “My smart baby brother,” the other murmured, reaching out to touch his cheek.

The two glanced over, and John and the demon started in surprise, as they heard a soft sound like sheets caught in the wind and a new voice, deep and gravelly, spoke, “No need.” 

“Cas!” Dean’s face lit up in pleased surprise as he spotted the man from the hospital standing in the room. He didn’t seem at all surprised and his sudden appearance, unlike Sam and John, who were staring in shock.

“Sorry it took me so long,” the man, Castiel, told Dean as he stepped to the man caught inside the devil’s trap, “My grace was only just restored to me.” He raised two fingers and placed them against Doctor Murphy’s head: the man howled in rage, just before a flash of light that lit his entire body silenced him. 

When the now-empty body crumbled to the floor, Castiel turned his eyes to them again.  
Sam blinked as the man greeted calmly, “Hello again, Sam.”

“H- hi, Cas,” he stammered back in shock, “Wha- what just – what did you do? To him?”

“Sent him back to hell.”

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?”  
All eyes turned to John, whom was staring at them in disbelief and panic and what appeared to be fear.

“Cas is an angel,” Dean supplied, moving forward to nudge the body on the floor with his foot, “Murphy was a demon, like I told you.”

John blinked at the statement and sat down suddenly on the floor, head in his hands. “This can’t be real,” the man muttered, “This is insane.” 

Dean huffed at the words and moved to Sam. “You okay?” he questioned, running his hands over his brother as if searching him for injuries, “Did he hurt you?”

Sam shook his head and murmured, “I’m okay”, and Dean pulled him into his arms. He couldn’t help his inappropriately-timed laugh as the man buried his face against his neck, as he always did.

All eyes shifted to Bobby as the man entered the room.  
“What -?” Bobby’s voice trailed off as he spotted Castiel standing in the middle of the living room, and Doctor Murphy’s body lying at his feet.  
“What the hell did I miss?”


	25. 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope Castiel's explanation makes sense. Also, last chapter, I think (unless I post the rather short alternate ending/epilogue I wrote out but decided not to post). I hope I didn't leave out anything important in this chapter: feel free to let me know if it seems like I did.  
> My Muses & the boys are telling me that this one is finished so, unless they change their minds & I end up doing a sequel, this ride is ended. ^_^
> 
> Thank you, all, for your encouraging, epically kind notes & support. You're all brilliant and epic & thank you for joining me on this mad ride. <3 <3 <3

When Castiel disappeared abruptly, taking the psychiatrist’s body with him, Bobby nearly collapsed. He was sitting now on the couch next to John; both men looked shell-shocked.

Sam’s eyes shifted from his father and uncle, to Dean. He met the other’s green gaze, and Dean moved to his side. 

“Okay, Sammy?” the older teen asked softly, reaching out to brush a finger down his cheek. 

He nodded and shot the other as much of a smile as he could manage. His brother had been right. Twelve years in the hospital, _at the hands of that demon doctor_ , when he had been right all along. He swallowed hard, hands shaking suddenly as the adrenaline of earlier began to wear off. 

Sam turned his gaze to John as the man muttered a low curse almost beneath his breath. John ran a hand over his face before raising his eyes to Dean.  
“Dean, I’m – I was – I’m sorry. You were right, all these years and – I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Dean stared at the man for a moment, before shifting his eyes to Sam. Sam reached out and caught hold of his brother’s hand as Dean moved closer to him. He glared at his father, a silent challenge, as the man’s eyes fell on their locked hands, then raised to look him in the face.

There was no way in hell he was letting go of his brother. Not for John, not for all the demons on the planet, not for anything. Never again.

 

John saw the challenge etched in Sam’s features, and he saw the wariness etched in Dean’s. He remained silent, biting down the urge to demand that Sam release his hold on the older teen. There were, he figured, more important things to consider right now. Like the fact a _demon_ had just been in his living room. Like the fact an _angel_ had _killed_ the demon, and then whisked his body away into thin air.

Like the fact that he had left his son in a mental hospital for twelve years, and the boy had been right about the supernatural beings he had been claiming were real all along. Like the fact that the doctor he had entrusted with Dean’s care had been _the very demon_ Dean had tried to warn him about.

His fingers tugged at his hair as he ran a hand through it. It wasn’t like it was something easy to believe – even now he could barely believe it. He hadn’t had any proof, any indication that those things existed. 

Realization struck him, yet again, as he raised his eyes to his sons. He hadn’t tried to believe. The notion that demons and angels and other supernatural beings were _real_ had been so far-fetched, that he had blown off any consideration that Dean was speaking the truth. That his son wasn’t as .. hell, as crazy.. as he had believed. Schizophrenia aside, Dean had been right.

Sam had listened, though. He had tried to convince John to consider that maybe there was some truth in what Dean had been, for years, trying to tell him. His younger son had listened, and had actually taken in what Dean had been saying: hell, he had been the only one listening, apparently.

He muttered another curse as guilt rose up in him. His eyes fell on Dean – the young man was watching him with a look of uneasiness and, yes, mistrust – on his face. John shook his head and rubbed at his temple: this was too much to process. All of it.

John looked over at Bobby as his brother asked suddenly,  
“How many of those – how many are there? An angel, that’s what your friend is?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, eyes on the far corner of the room. “Don’t know,” he answered, “Don’t have a headcount. Cas is the only angel I’ve ever met, except maybe Gabriel. Demons though, seen a couple of them since being out, and before, in the hospital.”

“Gabriel?” John stared at the teenagers for a moment, “Sam’s Gabriel?” He shook his head – again, too much to process right now. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he told his oldest son again, eyes meeting the young man’s. Dean only shrugged a shoulder, before moving to slip his arms around Sam and press his face against the younger boy’s neck. Just as he had in the hospital. Just as he did every time he needed to feel safe. That realization struck John like a hard slap to the face, and he closed his eyes as that guilt clawed at him again. 

His eyes returned to Dean as he heard the young man mutter, “Then I’ll deal with ‘em. Just shut it.” The boy’s eyes were focused on the far corner of the room, and he had a look of annoyance on his face. 

Dean had been right about supernatural beings, and he saw and spoke with something only he could see. There was definitely no parenting manual for _any_ of this.

John and Bobby both jerked in surprise as they found an angel suddenly standing in front of them. “What the hell?” John breathed as he stared at the angel standing in the living room again, “Does he do that often? _How_ does he - ? Holy shit.” 

 

Castiel stared at John for a moment, head tilted slightly as he studied the freaked-out man. His blue gaze shifted to Dean as he said suddenly, “I was mistaken when I told you that I was trying to get you out, Dean. I was confused: I was not trying to get you out, I was trying to get you in.”

“What?” Sam’s brows furrowed as he stared at the man, trying to puzzle out his statement.

The angel was silent for a moment, head tilted again as he sorted his thoughts. Finally he replied, 

“I am not from this world of yours. I am from .. an alternate dimension, if you will. Another realm. The Winchesters from my world, my Dean and Sam, fought to keep that world safe. They sacrificed everything: family, friends, themselves. Even when that world fell apart around them, they continued fighting for it.” 

“Sam – my realm’s Sam – asked me, in his last moments, to take his brother some place safe. Knowing Dean as I do, I knew he would not leave his brother behind. I grasped them both tight and, in their last moments of that life, I used every bit of power within me to take them from a world that they gave everything to save but fell around them anyway.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked between the brothers and a slight smile touched his lips. “I brought them here and, in doing so, rebooted their lives, if you will. Is that the correct word? Rebooted?”

He raised a brow and shrugged a shoulder, dismissing his own question. “Bringing them into this dimension gave them new beginnings, in every essence of the words. You retained bits of your other lives, which is why Dean has the knowledge he does of the supernatural, and why you have the dreams you have about that other life. It is why you are connected as you are, even after a decade apart.”

“Bringing you here drained me.” His brows furrowed, “And my mental facilities as well, it seems. It took a long time for me to regain any of my powers, and to recall that I was not trying to get you out of the hospital, I was trying to get you into this world. It is something like reincarnation, only into your own selves, if a different version, in a different world.”

Regret touched Castiel’s features as his eyes focused on Dean, “I believe the dimension jumping, and the effect of shoving an experienced, full mind in a new body, directly resulted in what your doctors term schizophrenia. For that, I am sorry, Dean.”

“That’s – that’s why I remember a life with Sam that I haven’t had,” Dean’s voice was almost a whisper as he stared at the angel, “Not here, at least. It’s – were we –“ His eyes flicked to John briefly, before moving to Sam, “I loved him there, too.” 

“Yes,” Castiel’s smile was soft as he contemplated the brothers, “You loved him there, too. You sought him immediately when I pulled you from hell. You fought demons and angels alike for Sam. You faced Death himself for him. Your love for one another saved you both, as well as countless lives, many times throughout the years.”

“You really an angel?” Bobby’s abrupt question drew a slight smile from the man in question, and Castiel nodded yes.

The angel’s intense blue gaze shifted to John suddenly, “Dean and Sam gave their lives for one another many times, their love was so deep. And found their way back to each other, every time. If heaven and hell could not keep them apart, what man believes he could?” 

John stared at the angel, brow furrowed, before glancing at his sons. He shook his head, rubbing a hand through his hair, and breathed another soft curse.

Castiel’s gaze returned to Dean as he finished, that soft smile gracing his features again, “You and Sam are soulmates, in this life and all others, Dean.”

Sam stepped close to his brother and slipped his arms around him. He whispered his brother’s name as Dean pressed his face against his neck, planting a soft kiss against his skin. 

“Can you take us back there?”  
Sam ignored his father’s exclamation of “Sam!” at his question, his eyes locked on Cas. The angel studied him for a moment before shaking his head.

“I cannot. I am sorry. I can take you to another realm, or even another point in time in this one, but that one is closed to us now.”

“This is crazy!” John started to stand, “Take you to another --? Are you out of your mind?” His eyes shifted to Bobby as the older man caught hold of his arm and pulled him back down on the couch.

“Be quiet, John,” Bobby told his brother, features pensive.

“My sons are talking to an angel,” John ran a hand through his hair again, tugging at it in agitation, “They’re talking about going away. I’m supposed to be okay with that?” His eyes shifted to Sam as the teen told him,

“We’re supposed to be together, dad. I know you still don’t understand, but Dean and I need each other.” He turned his hazel gaze to Dean as he raised a hand to brush it against his brother’s face, “Can’t you see what us being apart has done to him? He spent his whole life in a hospital because noone believed him, and –“ Sam shook his head, “I love you, dad, but Dean is everything to me. I need him, and he needs me. We’re not whole if we’re not together.” 

He brushed his fingers through the older teen’s hair as Dean hid his face against his neck and murmured, “Love you, Sammy.”

“Love you, too, Dean.”

“Sam – “ 

Sam closed his eyes as he heard the pain in his father’s voice. “I’m sorry, dad,” he told the man, meeting his gaze, “I love you, but I need Dean. If you can’t accept that, then I’ll go some place where I can be with him.”

All eyes turned to Bobby as the man spoke suddenly,  
“You can stay with me. Both of you.”  
He glanced at John, saw the anger and desperation and fear on the other’s face,  
“They’ll still be _here_ , John. If we try and stop them, that angel is going to take them some place where we won’t have them anymore. You don’t want that any more than I do. They can stay with me. They can be together and we’ll still have them.”

John rubbed a hand over his face as he muttered, “I need time to process all of this. I need time to think.”

“I’m not going home til next weekend,” Bobby clasped his brother’s shoulder, offering what support he could, “You have til then to come to terms.”

Sam and Dean looked to Castiel as the angel stepped close to them. He laid a hand on each of their shoulders and told them, “I must go. Meg is stealing the nurse’s uniform again. I believe she needs a change of scenery. If you need me, to leave here or for any other reason, call for me. I will hear you, and I will come.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam shot the angel a smile, which was returned. Dean stepped forward and pulled Castiel into an embrace, which was also returned. The angel stepped back when Dean released him: a moment later, he was gone.

 

John tried.  
He tried to make amends with Dean, for the years he had spent refusing to even consider the boy was speaking truth. He apologized and tried to explain how difficult it was for someone without Dean’s innate knowledge to believe supernatural beings existed. His son had only stared at him, arms wrapped around himself and nails digging into his arms until Sam instructed him softly to stop. 

He tried to come to terms with his own guilt: he hadn’t _known_ that supernatural beings were real. His oldest son was still schizophrenic, he had still had those violent spells. He could have handled it all better, he knew: he needed to handle everything better in the future. 

He made appointments of his own with a therapist Charlie recommended (though he had no intention of telling said therapist what he had witnessed in his living room the night Murphy had shown up, or anything about the supernatural). 

Mostly, he tried to come to terms with the fact that his sons were determined to be together, one way or another. When he had walked in on them kissing two days after the discovery that Murphy had been a demon, he had automatically demanded them to separate. Sam had looked him straight in the eyes and told him, “No. I won’t be without him anymore.” It was extremely difficult to hold his tongue about it, though the wariness and fear on Dean’s face had helped. 

 

Three days before Bobby’s planned departure back to South Dakota, John was sitting at the kitchen table with him. He was staring at his beer can more than drinking from it, lost in his thoughts. He raised his eyes to Bobby as his brother spoke,  
“I know it’s hard, John, but you’ve got to decide: can you handle the boys being together, or are they coming with me?”

“I’m trying, Bobby,” he told the other man as he ran a hand over his face, “It’s not easy. How do you just accept that _your sons_ have that kind of relationship with _each other_?” He sighed and asked, a rueful smile on his mouth, “Are we sure this isn’t all a bad dream?”

“’fraid not,” Bobby chuckled, “Seems like it should be but, from what I can reason, it’s all real.”

“I just – I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose them. Either of them. I don’t know how I can watch them have that kind of relationship, though.”

“Maybe you all just need a little time,” the other man suggested softly, “It’s been a very trying couple of months. Maybe you and the boys just need time to process and to wind down. What if they come back with me, til after Christmas break? Then we can reevaluate and go from there.”

“Sam would have to be pulled out of school,” John reminded.

“So he can take a week off and home-school in South Dakota, least til he’s settled in.”

John was silent for several minutes, toying with the beer can in front of him as he thought about it. “What kind of choice is this?” he asked finally, a humorless laugh escaping him, “I accept that my sons are romantically involved with each other, or I let them leave so they can have that kind of relationship, or I lose them? Shit.” He lifted the can to finish off the barely cold beer; when it was gone, he crushed the aluminum can in his hand and sat it on the table. “They’re going to be together, no matter how I feel about it.” 

“They are,” Bobby agreed, “You heard that angel, John. These boys have something between them that, obviously, goes beyond blood and brotherhood. We can’t change that and it looks like we can’t stop it, either. Now we just have to decide how we’re going to react to it.”

John was silent again for a while, thinking. Bobby let him think in peace, drinking his own beer and doing some thinking of his own. 

“I kept that boy locked in a hospital for twelve years,” John finally said, fist clenched where it rested on the tabletop, “Twelve years. I know his issues went beyond his belief in .. in supernatural beings. I know he has more issues than that, still, with the schizophrenia and the violent spells.” The man swallowed hard and shook his head, “But twelve years. I left him in there, at the hands of that – that _thing_..”

“You didn’t know, John,” Bobby tried to sooth, placing a hand on his brother’s arm.

“I know,” the man agreed, “I know. But – hell. After all that, he deserves to be happy. Dean deserves some happiness, and Sam –“ He paused, rubbed a hand over his mouth, “-Sam makes him happy. I’m not going to lose my sons. I lost one for most of his life and I just got him back. I’m not going to lose them.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair. “We’ll try it. If – if it’s too much and I can’t deal with it, they can stay with you for a while.”

“Okay,” Bobby agreed with a nod, squeezing lightly his brother’s arm, “It’s a plan.”

John nodded; a moment later, he shot his older brother an uncertain look. “Is – what would you do, Bobby?”

“Can’t make this decision for you.”

“I know,” John assured, “I just – “ He trailed off, a helpless look on his face. His eyes met his brother’s as Bobby assured softly,  
“I would do exactly what you’re doing, John. I would give it a shot and see how it goes. If you think I’m going to judge you for your decision, I’m not.”

John shot him a weak smile and nodded, relief touching his face. He chuckled softly as Bobby lightly cuffed him upside the head and reprimanded gently,  
“Ya idjit.”

Three days later, Sam and Dean were saying their goodbyes to their uncle. Their father was about to take the man to the airport, to catch his flight home.

“You boys take care,” Bobby instructed them as he hugged each of them tightly, “Stay out of trouble, and try not to give your dad a heart-attack, alright? Remember, keep the displays of affection to the bare minimum around him for the time being, or he's liable to stroke out." The man smirked, causing Sam to huff a laugh, and finished, "If you need me, give me a call. I’ll be back soon as I can catch a flight, or you can come out and see me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sam promised, hugging the man one last time. He wrinkled his nose as Bobby ruffled his hair; the man chuckled and climbed into the Impala’s passenger seat. 

Sam’s eyes shifted to his father as John joined them beside the car. “I’ll be back this evening,” the man informed them, “There’s money in the kitchen cabinet if you need it. Dean, make sure you take your meds. If you two –“ John paused, color touching his cheeks suddenly, as he recalled coming home earlier than expected from a work meeting the previous night, and walking in on the boys making out in the kitchen, “Just – Stay out of my damn kitchen, will you?”

“Sorry,” Sam shot him a sheepish grin, his own cheeks flushing slightly, “Again.”  
John rolled his eyes and shot them a smile, before moving around to the driver side. 

Sam watched as the car pulled out of the drive a moment later, carrying his father and uncle toward the airport. His gaze shifted to Dean, whom was watching him, and a smile touched his mouth.

“C’mon,” he grabbed his brother’s hand and tugged him toward the house, “We have the house to ourselves for a while, for really real this time. Got some catching up to do.”  
Dean’s raised brow and teasing comment of “Are you flirting with me, Sammy?” drew a laugh from him.  
“Yes,” he promised with a grin as he pulled his brother - his everything - into the house, “I am. Let’s go.”

[fin.]


End file.
